ilifornia 

riotia.1 


y 


|Y|         when 
m    woman  Jwposes 


Books  by  Anne  Warner 

A  WOMAN'S  WILL 

THE  REJUVENATION  OP  AUNT  MARY 

SUSAN  CLEGQ,  HER  FRIEND  AND  HER 

NEIGHBORS 
SUSAN  CLEGG  AND   A  MAN  IN  THE 

HOUSE 

SEEING  FRANCE   WITH   UNCLE  JOHN 
SEEING   ENGLAND   WITH   UNCLE   JOHN 
THE   PANTHER 
AN  ORIGINAL   GENTLEMAN 
IN   A   MYSTERIOUS   WAY 
YOUR  CHILD   AND   MINE 
JUST  BETWEEN  THEMSELVES 
HOW   LESLIE   LOVED 
WHEN  WOMAN   PROPOSES 


'  'AW  I  see  it  all  so  clearly, 
and  know  it  all  so  well." 

Frontispiece, 


•\ 


KJ, 

•  »..•• 


ustrations^ 
Charlotte  m 


and  tytcomtions  by 


Vf 


i\    J 


ittle,  jjrown&Companu 
^-^        ion         •   r 


911 


KW 

IV..^ 


Copyright,  1911, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  September,  1911 


The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


^•••^(^""."••-p^p? 

^^.ZS:::.~\x/< 


cfonwrd 


THE  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  the  land  of 
Nowhere,  "  Nowhere  "  being  —  as  most  of  us 
recognize  intuitively  —  that  uncharted  empire  of  the 
Future  where  all  manner  of  wonders  lie  waiting  to 
be  discovered  and  whence  come  rushing  with  ever 
fresh  force  and  power  those  mighty  rivers  of  Life 
and  Hope  which  make  our  days  worth  living  and 
our  dreams  worth  dreaming.  New  developments 
along  old  lines  are  the  key  of  the  present  movements 
and  are  proved  by  the  way  in  which  both  men  and 
women  are  thinking  and  writing  along  lines  that 
only  a  few  years  ago  were  either  unknown  or  for- 
bidden. When  I  speak  with  such  men  and  women 
or  read  their  words  I  am  overwhelmed  with  a  desire 
to  be  able  to  be  just  as  helpful  as  they  are.  But 
we  are  all  cast  in  different  moulds  and  my  mould 
is  such  a  curiously  mixed  pattern  of  the  old  and 
the  new,  that  when  a  very  brave  and  distinguished 
officer  gives  me  the  outline  of  a  new  and  daring 
solution  for  familiar  woes,  I  can  only  develop  it 


: 


[vi] 

through  the  old,  old  story  of  the  old,  old  methods 
of  a  woman  who  loves  with  all  her  heart.  This 
is  a  century  of  wonders  and  we  may  yet  see  a  real 
Nathalie  addressing  a  real  governmental  body  some- 
where, but  when  we  do  see  a  miracle  of  that  order 
I  think  we  may  all  be  very  sure  that  before  she 
took  up  the  cause  of  humanity  in  general,  she  — 
like  my  own  not  very  deep  little  heroine  —  had 
taken  up  the  cause  of  just  one  man  in  particular 
and  learned  to  love  the  world  and  the  right  because 
she  loved  him  so  infinitely  more. 

Perhaps  this  is  not  an  advanced  standpoint  but 
it  is  mine  and  —  even  in  writing  fiction  —  I  cannot 
get  beyond  it.  Or  perhaps  I  do  not  want  to  get 
beyond  it. 

ANNE  WARNER. 


T 


1 1 

; 

: 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  WOMAN  AND  HER  VICTIM  ....  1 

II  THE  ENTRANCE  WHICH  THE  HERO  MAKES  15 

III  THE  BIRD  IN  THE  CAGE 30 

IV  THE  BIRD  SINGS  IN  ITS  CAGE  .      ...  43 
V  THE  DAWN  OF  SERIOUS  CONSIDERATION    .  52 

VI  THE  BIRD  FLUTTERS  ABOUT  A  BIT  ...  84 

VII  THE  BIRD  TAKES  FLIGHT 102 

VIII  NEW  FACTOR  IN  THE  CRISIS 118 

IX  ONE  SOLDIER  REPORTS  FOR  DUTY   .     .     .  129 

X  THE  WOMAN  AND  THE  MAN 143 

XI  THE  WOMAN  AND  THE  MEN 148 


Uf 

N 


I 

Mustrations 

"Now  I  see  it  so  clearly — and  know 

it  all  so  well " Frontispiece 

There  was  something  startlingly  im- 
pressive in  his  expression  and  in 
his  pose PAGE  8 

"  I  am  always  so  happy  over  your 
hurting  yourself,"  she  said  thought- 
{§  fully "          99 

"  Oh,  where  is  he  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 

springing  from  her  seat       .     .     .  142 


! 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   WOMAN  AND   HER  VICTIM 

THEY  were  coming  down  the  staircase,  Natha- 
•  lie  first,  Mrs.  d'Ypres  just  behind  her.  A  very 
stout  lady,  following  both,  suddenly  set  her  foot  on 
the  narrow  train  of  Nathalie's  Empire  costume  and 
caused  her  to  cease  to  move.  Nathalie  never  pulled, 
or  frowned,  or  turned  her  head  with  an  awful  look 
when  people  trod  upon  her  silks  or  satins,  —  she 
only  stood  still  until  they  saw  fit  to  move  on  and 
permit  of  her  doing  the  same.  Therefore  she  now 
laid  her  gloved  fingers  lightly  upon  her  friend's  arm 
and  said,  in  tones  surely  the  sweetest  ever  heard 
from  a  woman  who  knew  another  woman  to  be 
aggressing  upon  her  hem,  — 

"Is  n't  it  beautiful  down  there?" 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  put  up  her  lorgnette  and  gazed  over 
the  gorgeous  show  beneath  them.  It  was  truly  a 
fairy  spectacle  for,  unlike  many  princely  interiors 


casss. 


X 


\/ 

6 


^hen^oman  Proposes 


[2] 

in  like  circumstances,  the  wealth  that  had  paid  for 
it  had  followed,  instead  of  leading,  in  its  design. 
From  the  large  oval  sweep  of  the  marble  staircase  one 
looked  across  an  immense  green  and  crystal  hall, 
the  arched  ceiling  of  which  was  upborne  by  slender 
marble  columns  based  on  squares  and  flowering  out 
in  pure  Ionic  lines  at  the  top.  Long  narrow  windows 
alternated  with  mirrors  on  two  sides  and  arches 
leading  into  salles  de  reception  occupied  the  third. 
Two  jewelled  Moorish  fountains  played  at  either 
end,  great  vases  of  flowers  broke  the  straight  lines 
of  pillar  and  drapery  here  and  there,  soft  sweet 
music  sounded  in  the  veiled  distance,  and  life  per- 
meated the  whole  —  for  the  scene  was  that  of  a 
brilliant  reception  given  by  one  of  the  diplomatic 
circle. 

"Is  n't  it  beautiful?"  Nathalie  repeated. 

"Yes,"  said  her  friend,  —  "it  makes  one  wonder 
if  anything  is  real  except  health  and  wealth  and 
happiness?  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,  but  may  I  pass?" 
said  a  voice  of  muffled  irritation  from  behind.  It 
came  from  the  stout  lady  in  their  rear,  justly 
irritated  over  any  one's  blocking  her  way  anywhere. 


0 


0O>=i&CP 


6 


Nathalie  turned  and  saw  that  her  skirt  was  now 
her  own  again. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  she  said,  smiling,  "do  excuse  me." 

The  stout  lady  passed  on  without  deigning  to 
answer,  —  she  was  evidently  deeply  annoyed. 

"Shall  we  not  go  down?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  sug- 
gested after  a  little;  the  descending  crowd  was  surg- 
ing continually  by  them  and  the  younger  woman 
seemed  totally  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  then*  im- 
mobility was  causing  inconvenience. 

She  came  to  herself  at  her  friend's  words,  however: 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  going  down,"  she  said, 
-  "  I  had  forgotten  everything,  —  I  was  looking  at 
that  man  by  the  pillar." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres'  eyes  moved  quickly  here  and  there 
and  at  once  discovered  the  man.  She  was  silent. 

"Do  you  see  whom  I  mean?"  asked  Nathalie. 

"The  very  tall  man  with  the  black  mustache, 
is  it  not?" 

"Yes." 

"  Certainly,  I  see  him  now." 

There  was  a  brief  pause  and  then  — 

"  He  is  the  best-looking  man  that  I  have  ever  seen 
in  all  my  Me,"  said  the  younger  woman. 


Q 


?::::-£>-•••• 


A 


^oman  IVoposes 


[4] 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  contemplated  the  gentleman;  she 
was  hopeless  in  the  face  of  the  impossibility  of  denial. 

"  I  have  n't  the  slightest  desire  to  go  down  to  this 
reception,"  Nathalie  said  after  the  passage  of  some 
few  more  seconds,  —  "I  am  quite  happy  standing 
here  and  looking  at  that  splendid  man." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  at  once  composed  herself  to  the  ex- 
pectation of  a  long  wait  on  the  stairs.  Fate  creates 
some  women  to  be  exactly  suited  to  the  needs  of 
some  other  women,  and  Nathalie's  friend  had  been 
born  ten  years  before  Nathalie  herself  expressly  for 
the  purpose  of  understanding  and  chaperoning  the 
latter's  vagaries.  The  beneficent  gods  had  given 
Mrs.  d'Ypres  just  enough  embonpoint  to  raise  her 
above  all  suspicion  of  really  being  only  thirty-five 
years  old,  and  had  clinched  the  matter  by  prema- 
turely whitening  her  hair.  It  followed  that  Nathalie 
who  was  twenty-five  looked  nineteen,  while  Mrs. 
d'Ypres,  who  was  thirty-five,  looked  fifty.  An  even 
disposition,  a  gentle  voice  and  manner,  a  tenderly 
maternal  sympathy,  and  a  carriage  that  was  so 
superb  that  it  forbade  any  criticism  as  to  any  one 
whom  she  honored  by  accompanying,  completes  the 
portrait  of  the  lady  who  was  generally  too  wise  to 


Imposes 


[5] 

speak  when  spoken  to  by  one  who  loved  to  speak 
and  rarely  ever  noticed  the  absence  of  response.  I 
hope  that  my  reader  now  understands  both  Mrs. 
d'Ypres  and  Mrs.  d'Ypres'  position.  As  to  Nathalie 
and  Nathalie's  position,  the  understanding  of  them 
is  not  only  another  story,  but  the  story  itself,  and 
all  the  pages  to  come  are  to  be  so  devoted  to  their 
exposition  that  any  information  given  at  this  junc- 
ture would  be,  not  only  a  foolish  waste  of  time,  but 
a  terrific  forestalling  of  that  interest  which  I  hope 
to  develop  more  acutely  with  every  printed  period. 

The  older  lady  stood  still  upon  the  staircase,  her 
sables  grouped  around  her  shoulders  and  her  face 
indicative  of  those  high-bred,  under-kept  emotions 
to  which  sables  ever  ally  themselves  naturally,  while 
her  companion  leaned  lightly  against  the  crystal 
casing  of  the  carved  balustrade  and  continued  to 
contemplate  the  man  below.  In  her  eyes  glowed  a 
kaleidoscopic  succession  of  many  sentiments,  but  a 
sort  of  calm  speculativeness  appeared  to  reign  su- 
preme in  the  end. 

"It  seems  so  curious  to  think  of  the  kind  of  men 
that  most  women  marry,  when  one  sees  a  man  like 
that,"  she  said,  after  a  long  while. 


II 


!\ 


l\ 

\  • 

V 


[6] 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  said  nothing. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  married  a  man  like  him," 
she  continued  a  few  minutes  later. 

Mrs>  d'Ypres  said  nothing. 

Then  Nathalie  suddenly  ceased  to  lean  against 
the  balustrade,  straightened  up,  and,  a^s  she  did  so, 
she  began  to  unbutton  the  glove  upon  her  left  hand. 
It  was  a  long  glove  of  delicately-hued  kid  and  she 
slipped  it  slowly  down  upon  her  wrist  as  she  still 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  tall  figure  by  the 
pillar. 

"I  think  that  I  should  like  to  marry  that  man," 
she  said,  very  quietly. 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  suppressed  all  evidence  of  surprise 
by  catching  her  under  lip  between  her  fine  white 
teeth. 

"  You  have  your  little  gold  chatelaine  with  you  - 
have  you  not,  dear?"  -Nathalie  was  now  drawing 
the  glove  from  her  finger-tips. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  touching  a  wee  net  of 
gold  thread  that  was  looped  into  her  lorgnette's 
chain,  —  "do  you  want  it?" 

"No,"  said  the  other,  without  moving  her  eyes,  — 
"  I  don't  want  it,  —  but  I  don't  want  this  either,"  — 


A 

/  \ 

W 


(\ 


C2> 


f  ^/fien^bman  Proposes  <* 


[7] 

she  freed  her  hand  of  the  glove  as  she  spoke  and 
slipped  off  her  wedding-ring;  "take  it,  Kathryn," 
holding  it  out,  —  still  without  turning  her  eyes, 
"  drop  it  into  your  chatelaine,  —  I  don't  want  it 
any  more  because  I  am  going  to  marry  that  man 
down  there." 

The  conviction  expressed  in  her  words  is  impos- 
sible to  transcribe.  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  although  she  had 
considered  herself  equal  to  any  new  outbreak  of 
unconventionality  in  speech  that  might  be  served 
suddenly  upon  her,  was  altogether  startled  out  of 
her  usual  composure  by  these  words. 

"My  dear  child  —  "  she  cried  in  a  low  but  urgent 
tone,  "  pray  —  : 

"  I  mean  to  marry  him,"  Nathalie  declared,  always 
looking  straight  at  the  man,  —  "it's  not  the  slight- 
est use  saying  one  word  to  me,  Kathryn.  Put  this 
ring  in  your  chatelaine  and  then,  dear,  please  go 
down  and  ask  his  name.  I'm  going  back  to  the 
dressing-rooms  myself.  I  want  to  get  my  wrap  and 
when  you  come  we  will  leave  at  once.  I  don't  want 
to  talk  with  any  one  here  now." 

She  turned  as  she  finished  speaking  and  mounted 
the  stairs  so  swiftly  as  to  be  almost  running.  Mrs. 


fi 

V 


'4 

'4 


d'Ypres  stood  where  she  was  left  for  a  minute,  and 
her  teeth  sank  deeply  into  her  lip  in  a  strong  effort 
to  rally  her  usual  placidity  into  it's  usual  place.  Her 
fingers  trembled  somewhat,  and,  as  she  opened  the  ;' 
little  golden  net  to  receive  the  ring,  .she  felt  her 
heart's  blood  throbbing  in  their  tips.  What  would 
come  next?' — What  would  result  from  this  new 
phase  of  life  —  of  Nathalie's  .life?  —  And  the  inan 
below,  still  standing  impassive  by  the  pillar,  —  who 

T   * 

and  what  might  he  be? 

As  she  strove  with  hj^r  ebbing  resolutions  and  her 
flooding  sense  of  submersion  in  humanity's  quick- 
sand of  the  unexpected,  she  looked  down  at  the  man 
again  and  noted  every 'line  of  his  fine  strength  of 
face  and  figure.  He  stood  perfectly  erect  and  his 
arms  were  folded  on  his  bosom.  There  was  some- 
thing startlingly  impressive  in  his  expression  and 
in  his  pose. 

Just  then  a  voice  spoke  at  her  elbow. 

"So  glad  to  see  you;  —  just  come?" 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  speaker,  a  pretty,  deli- 
cate-featured elderly  lady. 

"No,  we  are  just  going;  I  stopped  behind  for  one 
more  souvenir  of  its  loveliness." 


*HJii?  •'••'.'"c&f*  ~ '^TT 


There  leas  something 
startlingly  impressive  in  hi* 
expression  and  in  Ids  pose . 

Page  8. 


QKf 


"Proposes 


g7-:.""^"";"-rT} 
^-..:r.v,.-::S-::....-NXX 


f;l 


[9] 

The  other  smiled  and  put  up  her  glass. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Kathryn  d'Ypres,  "do  you  know 
who  that  gentleman  by  the  pillar  is?  —  He  looks  so 
very  interesting." 

"Know  him—  "  the  elderly  lady  looked  vaguely 
in  the  direction  indicated  —  "oh!"  (she  saw  who 
it  was  suddenly)  —  "why,  of  course  I  know  him. 
He 's  a  sort  of  distant  connection  of  ours,  —  Francis 
Mowbray,  you  know." 

"Does  he  live  here?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  asked. 

"  Dear  me,  no ;  —  he  lives  wherever  they  send  him. 
He 's  an  officer  in  the  army,  —  a  captain  in  the 
X— th." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres'  eyes  moved  to  the  man's  face. 

"He's  good-looking,  isn't  he?"  said  his  relative. 
—  "  Come  and  take  tea  with  me  Thursday  and  per- 
haps I  can  persuade  him  to  come  too.  He's  really 
interesting  if  you  can  get  him  to  talk.  He  is  to  be 
here  a  fortnight,  I  believe.  Cuthbert  will  know. 
Bring  Mrs.  Arundel  with  you.  How  is  she?  —  Dear 
me,  I  must  go.  —  His  name  is  Francis  Mowbray  I 
said,  you  know,  —  Thursday  —  don't  forget.  — 
Good-bye." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  went  slowly  back  up  the  stairs  to 


\: 


0 

f  \ 

\      ; 
\  f 

0 


^hen^omn  Proposes 


[10] 

Nathalie,  whom  she  found  standing  by  a  window, 
watching  the  carriages  come  and  go,  with  eyes  that 
saw  nothing  for  the  moment. 

The  eyes  saw  the  friend  readily  enough,  however, 
and  brightened  perceptibly. 

"Oh,  Kathryn,  you've  found  out  his  name.  I  see 
it  in  your  face." 

"Yes,  I  —  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"Francis  Mowbray;  he's  —  " 

"Does  he  live  here?" 

"No,  he  — " 

"Where  does  he  live?" 
"He  —  " 
"What  is  he?" 
"  An  officer  in  —  " 

"In  what,  Kathryn;  —  do  speak  quicker." 
"In  the  X— th;  he  —  " 
"  What 's  his  rank?" 
"He's  a  captain." 

"A  captain,  —  is  that  a  very  high  position?" 
"I  think  so." 

"A  captain  in  the  X— th,  then  I  must  learn  all 
about  the  X— th,  and  all  about  the  army."  Her  tone 


**s., 


became  meditative,  —  "I  never  thought  anything 
about  marrying  an  officer,  —  I  've  never  thought 
much  about  marrying  anybody  again,  —  but  of 
course  now  I  must  learn  all  that  there  is  to  learn." 
She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

A  maid  approached  with  a  velvet  coat  over  her 
arm. 

"Whom  did  you  ask  about  him?"  was  the  next 
question  while  the  coat  was  being  put  on. 

"Mrs.  Galbraith;  —  she  came  down  the  stairs  as 
I  was  closing  my  chatelaine.  It  seems  that  he  is  a 
distant  relative  of  hers." 

"Did  she  speak  of  Cuthbert?" 

"She  only  just  mentioned  him." 

Nathalie  reflected  a  minute  while  the  coat  was 
being  properly  hooked,  and  then  with  an  air  that  was 
half  pitying  and  half  joyful  relief,  — 

"  I  never  would  have  married  Cuthbert  Galbraith 
anyhow,  you  know." 

"Mrs.  Galbraith  asked  us  to  come  there  to  tea 
on  Thursday  and  possibly  Captain  Mowbray  would 
come  too." 

"I  don't  want  to  meet  him  that  way  the  first 
time." 


©ls> 

r\'/~i 


X 


/     \ 


Mrs.  d'Ypres  was  surveying  herself  in  the  mirror 
and  now  took  up  her  muff. 

"If  I  had  wanted  to  meet  him  in  that  kind  of  a 
way  the  first  time,  I  should  have  gone  on  down  and 
met  him  to-day." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  stood  waiting. 

"I  do  not  believe  that  you  realize  what  has  hap- 
pened," said  the  younger  woman,  very  gravely. 
"I  mean  every  word  that  I  have  been  saying  and  I 
shall  mean  it  more  every  hour  from  now  till  I  die. 
It's  a  tremendous  thing  for  a  woman  to  see  a  man 
she  wants  to  marry,  and  then  decide  to  marry  him, 
and  then  go  on  and  do  it.  It  means  ever  so  much,  — 
and  ever  so  much  work  too.  He  may  have  very  dif- 
ferent ideas  from  me  and  then  I  shall  have  to  make 
myself  all  over  to  suit  him.  Or  he  may  live  in  some 
queer  place  and  in  that  case  I  shall  have  to  learn 
to  be  quite  content  in  a  queer  place  just  because  he 
lives  there." 

A  sudden  cold  steel  chill  fled  through  Mrs.  d'Ypres; 
she  recollected  that  she  had  not  asked  whether 
the  captain  was  married  or  single.  Her  throat 
choked. 

"Nathalie  —  "  she  asked,  —  "if  he  has  a  wife!" 


•v^X  -t*> 

IVoposes 


Nathalie  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"Oh,  Kathryn,"  she  said,  almost  impatiently, 
"how  hard  you  do  try  to  find  something  to  bother 
about.  Of  course  he  has  no  wife.  How  could  I 
marry  him  if  he  had  a  wife?  —  you  must  be 
reasonable  about  things!  —  Come  now,  we'll  go 
to  the  carriage,  and  take  a  nice  long  drive  be- 
fore dinner.  I  want  to  be  out  in  the  fresh  air. 
All  this  has  sent  the  blood  to  my  head  so  that 
it  almost  aches." 

They  went  down  to  the  carriage  in  silence  and 
during  the  hour's  drive  that  followed  neither  spoke. 
Mrs.  d'Ypres  tried  to  restore  order  to  the  new  and 
unexpected  chaos  into  which  she  had  just  been 
initiated,  and  Nathalie  leaned  comfortably  back 
and  contemplated  with  pleasure  the  prospect  of 
marrying  a  man  whose  voice  she  had  never  heard 
and  about  whom  she  knew  positively  nothing  except 
his  name  and  rank. 

Oh,  yes,  —  and  she  knew  what  he  looked  like!  — 
With  many  women  that  stands  for  a  great  deal,  and 
with  Nathalie  it  stood  just  now  for  almost  every- 
thing, as  the  reader  knows. 

However,  there  are  some  few  happy  individuals  in 


I ; 


C2> 


/  \ 


Proposes  <& 


[14] 

this  world  who  may  be  judged  at  a  glance  just  be- 
cause their  minds  and  bodies  have  developed  in  per- 
fect unison,  and  along  lines  equally  sound  and 
straight.  Let  us  hope  that  we  are  to  find  such  a  one 
in  Francis  Mowbray,  captain  in  the  X — th. 


A 
(> 


A 


A 

u 

\i 


n  Proposes 


[15] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  ENTRANCE  WHICH  THE  HERO  MAKES 

AFTER  dinner  that  night  Nathalie  came  over 
by  her  friend's  chair,  knelt  there,  and  laid 
her  cheek  against  the  other's  knee.  Mrs.  d'Ypres 
put  her  hand  caressingly  upon  the  waves  of  soft 
brown  hair  that  yielded  so  sweetly  to  the  restraint 
of  jewelled  pin  and  bandeau,  and  for  some  little 
while  neither  spoke. 

There  was  a  fire  of  sea-wood  burning  before  them, 
and  the  prisms  of  its  metallic  glow  threw  strange 
hues  over  the  two  women  and  their  gowns.  It  was 
as  if  some  magic  imprisoned  in  the  ether  of  our  en- 
casing spiritual  world  were  striving  to  leap  free  and 
impart  its  secret  through  the  medium  of  colors  half 
material  and  half  hitherto  unknown.  Shades  of  the 
pearl  mingled  with  those  that  pass  with  the  passing 
of  a  human's  breath  across  polished  steel,  and  then 
both  faded  and  the  purple  that  presages  cyclonic 
storms  reigned  for  a  minute  until  suddenly  tipped 


0 


/} 


v 


& 

jS 

:  \ 


r? 

*'-..' 


(A 


K<  "n  "Woman  roposes 


<3&0 


with  all  the  shooting  splendors  of  the  Aurora  Bore- 
alis  on  a  zero  night. 

Mrs. .  d'Ypres,  looking  downward  at  the  face 
against  her  knee,  could  not  distinguish  the  fire's 
play  from  the  play  of  that  other  fire  which  Nathalie 
had  that  day  declared  to  be  new  lighted.  The  latter 
was  unwontedly  quiet  —  but  in  the  end  she  spoke 
first  of  the  two.  She  ceased  to  lean  as  she  did  so, 
raising  herself  instead  to  a  position  of  unsupported 
individuality,  and  clasping  her  hands  about  her 
knees. 

"Kathryn,"  she  said,  "he  has  already  begun  to 
make  me  over.  He  is  making  me  see  my  faults 
and  want  to  cure  them  as  quickly  as  I  can.  He 
looked  very,  very  conventional;  that  means  that 
he  will  not  like  anything  unconventional  in  me.  I 
must  begin  to  be  conventional  at  once.  I  must  be 
conventional  about  meeting  him."  She  paused  and 
looked  earnestly  and  inquiringly  at  her  friend. 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  smiled  a  little  —  a  very  little. 

"If  he  does  not  like  unconventionality,  my  dear," 
—  she  began,  —  and  then  stopped. 

"You  mean  that  if  he  does  not  like  unconvention- 
ality, he  will  not  like  me?" 


Proposes 


[17] 

"You  are  very  unconventional,  Nathalie,  dear." 
"But  I  am   not  going  to   stay  so;  -hereafter  I 
shall  be  conventional,  —  wait  and  see.    I  am  going 
to  be  everything  that  will  please  him,  and  if  that  will 
please  him  I  shall  surely  be  that  also." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  sat  silent.  She  felt  to-night  that 
such  a  course  was  more  than  ever  before  the  wisest 
for  her  to  pursue.  Up  to  five  hours  previous  Nathalie 
had  been  a  thing  apart,  one  who  dwelt  in  a  world  so 
utterly  unlike  the  world  of  others  that  ordinary 
everyday  thoughts  frequently  became  as  shapeless 
shadows  in  her  mental  neighborhood;  now  a  new 
phase  had  come  into  being,  and  in  the  face  of  her 
readiness  to  make  herself  completely  over  to  suit 
her  standards  of  an  utter  stranger,  the  suggestion 
that  the  stranger  might  be  unworthy  or  lacking  in 
any  degree  of  reciprocal  interest  in  herself  seemed 
curiously  out  of  place  —  somewhat  like  applying  a 
letter-scale  to  Heaven's  promises.  Mrs.  d'Yprcs 
felt  that  it  was  all  absurd  but  felt  not  the  less  help- 
less to  combat  the  situation.  She  was  used  to 
struggling  amid  the  nets  and  toils  spread  by  her 
young  friend's  impulses,  but  she  had  never  before 
been  caught  in  the  bear-trap  of  a  love  affair. 

Mk, 


'X 

n 


^   f  V 

0 


oc::»i§g2 

^hm^omati  Proposes 


[18] 

She  felt  hopelessly  incapable;  so  she  remained 
silent. 

"Do  you  know,  Kathryn,  we  really  know  very 
little  about  him,"  Nathalie  said  at  last,  "I  wish 
that  you  had  asked  Mrs.  Galbraith  a  great  many 
more  questions." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  nodded  slightly. 

"Where  he  is  stationed  and  where  he  is  staying 
while  he  is  here.  Things  like  that." 

"Yes,  I  wish  that  I  had,"  said  the  friend. 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  going  there  to  tea  on 
Thursday  and  having  Mrs.  Galbraith  introduce  us. 
I  don't  like  to  think  that  I  shall  have  to  remember 
all  my  life  that  Mrs.  Galbraith  introduced  us.  I  've 
never  been  particularly  fond  of  Mrs.  Galbraith. 
She  is  n't  any  one  that  I  should  dream  of  ever  asking 
to  a  small  informal  wedding  —  you  know  that  as 
well  as  I  do." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  felt  that  whatever  else  she  might 
have  felt  disinclined  to  discuss,  she  certainly  had  no 
views  to  offer  as  to  Mrs.  Galbraith's  presence  at  the 
wedding  of  Nathalie  and  Captain  Mowbray. 

But  Nathalie  had  views  on  the  subject: 

"You  know  that  if  she  introduced  us  she  would 


.-..,•• "-.",<£ 

"'•~f'-..  ••"•~irr 

*•••*...**  -A.  C- 


ses 


[19] 

expect  to  be  asked,  —  you  know  that  as  well  as 
I  do.  And  she  would  cry  because  she  would  be 
so  sorry  that  it  was  not  Cuthbert  —  you  know 
she  is  always  hoping  that  I  will  marry  him 
some  day.  If  we  go  there  to  tea  Thursday  he  will 
be  there  too,  of  course,  and  that  won't  be  agreeable 
—  No,  I  shall  not  go  there  to  tea  on  Thursday. 
Don't  say  another  word  about  it  —  I  've  quite 
decided." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  But  how  am  I  going  to  meet  him? " 

There  was  a  long  pause  after  that. 

"  I  must  meet  him,  you  know.  And  I  don't  want 
to  wait  too  long  either." 

There  was  a  still  longer  pause  after  that. 

"If  I  wrote  a  note,"  said  Nathalie,  very  slowly, 
"and  addressed  it  to  Capt.  Francis  Mowbray,  in 
care  of  the  War  Department,  and  told  him  frankly 
that  I  wanted  to  meet  him  and  that  I  wanted  him 
to  come  here  and  be  met,  then  he  would  come  and 
I  could  ask  him  where  he  was  stationed,  and  it  would 
all  be  quite  simple.  —  But  that  would  be  uncon- 
ventional, I  suppose?"  —  she  looked  at  Mrs. 
d'Ypres  as  she  spoke. 


•""„•' ""*••'-, 

"•-*•- -'"^ 


0 


A 


"I  am  afraid  that  it  would  be  unconventional," 
admitted  Mrs.  d'Ypres. 

"Yes,  I  felt  that,"  said  Nathalie,  —  and  sighed 
lightly. 

Then  she  rose  from  the  floor  and  moved  around 
behind  a  large  low-backed  chair  and  rested  her 
crossed  wrists  upon  its  carving.  Her  eyes  looked 
deeply  and  earnestly  into  the  fire  whose  shafts  of 
blaze  leapt,  quick  to  answer  their  appeal. 

"I  do  not  worry  at  all,"  she  said  after  a  little, 
"there  is  really  nothing  to  worry  about  because  of 
course  if  I  am  going  to  marry  him  (and  I  am  go- 
ing to  marry  him)  —  he  will  have  to  meet  me  soon 
some  way.  But  I  certainly  wish  that  it  was  n't 
quite  so  puzzling  to  see  how  it  is  to  be  brought 
about." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  wondered  whether  or  not  to  suggest 
leaving  all  to  Fate.  After  a  little  she  decided  to  say 
it  —  and  said  it. 

Nathalie  looked  at  her  in  startled  surprise. 

"Why,  then  I  might  not  meet  him  at  all,"  she 
said;  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  aggrieved  amaze- 
ment that  her  friend  should  have  entertained  such 
an  idea.  "Goodness  me,  —  why  he  didn't  even 


$ 


see  me!  When  a  man  hasn't  even  seen  you,  you 
can't  expect  Fate  to  do  anything!" 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  resumed  her  usual  tactics  at  once; 
Nathalie  continued  to  knit  her  brows  and  con- 
template the  fire. 

"Marriages  are  something  that  can't  be  left  to 
Fate,"  she  continued,  presently,  —  "Fate  makes  a 
worse  mess  of  them  even  than  you  do  yourself. 
I  've  been  married  once  by  Fate,  —  this  time  I  want 
to  try  the  law  of  election  or  the  law  of  evolution  or 
whatever  it  is  that  lets  you  choose  the  man  to  suit 
yourself.  I've  chosen  to  suit  myself,  —  I've  chosen 
this  man,  —  now  I  want  to  meet  him  so  I  can  get 
him  and  marry  him." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  stayed  silent  and  also  stayed 
sober. 

"I'm  going  to  bed  now  and  think  hard.  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  going  to  grow  a  great  deal  to-night." 

The  older  friend  stretched  out  her  hand  —  the 
younger  came  to  her  side  and  took  it,  dropping  upon 
her  knees  again  and  pillowing  her  cheek  against  its 
white  softness. 

"Seeing  him  has  filled  me  full  of  new  longings, 
Kathryn,  —  it  is  as  if  I  were  putting  out  little  shoots 


A 


'Proposes  « 


[22] 

of  wanting  to  be  better  in  every  direction.  He 
looked  so  good  standing  there.  As  though  he  had 
conquered  himself  and  other  things.  As  if  only  great 
ideas  and  impulses  counted  in  his  world.  It  was  n't 
just  his  face  and  figure  that  I  liked,  —  it  was  that  he 
showed  that  he  must  be  splendid  all  through.  A 
man  like  that  could  not  be  petty  or  mean  —  it 
would  n't  be  possible.  A  man  that  looks  like  that 
and  stands  like  that,  lives  like  that,  too." 

She  paused  and  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  looking  straight 
into  the  sea-glow,  saw  each  flame-jet  through  the 
drift  of  misty  tears  and  could  not  help  it  and  did  not 
desire  to  help  it. 

"It  is  going  to  make  me  all  over,"  Nathalie  went 
on,  "I've  changed  ever  so  much  just  since  this 
afternoon.  But  the  strangest  thing  is  that  now 
that  it  has  come  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  getting  ready 
for  it,  without  knowing  for  what,  for  quite  a  while. 
I've  been  feeling  myself  changing  and  growing  dif- 
ferent—  now  I  really  am  different.  I  shall  cease 
to  do  foolish  things  that  get  me  talked  about;  I  shall 
cease  to  be  foolish  in  any  way;  I  shall  become  just 
the  kind  of  a  woman  that  he  admires ;  I  am  going  to 
learn  to  be  as  grand  for  a  woman  as  he  is  for  a  man. 


A 

/ 


v 


§ 

I 


i  \ 


V 


VOLX 

C8r 


n  Proposes  § 


[23] 

I  am  going  to  be  worthy  of  him.  Wait,  and  you 
shall  see." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  felt  that  she  must  speak  now.  She 
had  never  seen  her  young  friend  like  this  or  any- 
thing at  all  like  this  before.  She  opened  her  lips, 
and  then,  just  before  her  first  word  shaped  itself, 
a  slight  stir  sounded  in  the  hall  outside. 

"Ah,  —  company!"  exclaimed  Nathalie,  and 
sprang  to  her  feet  at  once. 

But  it  was  only  the  butler. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame,"  he  said,  "but 
there's  a  gentleman  fallen  and  hurt  himself  outside. 
They  want  to  know  if  they  may  bring  him  in  while 
they  get  a  doctor  and  send  for  the  ambulance.". 

"Some  one  hurt!"  Nathalie's  lips  paled  as  she 
moved  quickly  across  the  room.  "Why,  of  course, 
Perkins;  tell  them  to  bring  him  right  in  here  on  the 
big  couch.  How  is  he  hurt?  —  is  he  badly  hurt?  — 
was  it  his  own  motor  or  did  some  one  else  hit 
him?" 

By  the  time  that  the  last  questions  were  being 
put  they  had  reached  the  large  dimly-lit  hall,  the 
front  door  of  which  was  standing  open  while  an  in- 
distinguishable outline  of  figures  seemed  to  be 


A 


0 


fl 

{} 


[24] 


arrested  on  the  steps  outside.  The  butler  hastily 
turned  on  more  lights  and  going  forward  said,  "Mrs. 
Arundel  says  to  bring  the  gentleman  in,  if  you 
please."  Then  as  he  moved  back  to  make  room  for 
those  who  were  carrying  the  hurt  man,  he  said  in 
answer  to  his  mistress,  — 

"No,  it  wasn't  a  motor  accident,  Madame;  it 
looks  like  he  did  not  see  the  curb  and  caught  his 
foot  and  fell  against  the  big  tree  guard." 

Nathalie  stood  a  little  back,  just  by  the  newel- 
post  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  There  were  three 
men  bearing  the  disabled  man  and  they  followed 
the  butler  into  the  library.  As  they  entered  its 
doorway,  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  who  had  advanced  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  gave  a  low  cry.  As  she  did 
so  she  looked  quickly  to  where  Nathalie's  figure  ap- 
peared between  the  portieres. 

"Do  you  see  —  "  she  gasped. 

Nathalie  raised  her  hand  quickly. 

"Don't  say  anything,  Kathryn,"  she  said  in  low 
but  distinct  tones,  "  it  is  just  right  —  it  is  Fate  after 
all  —  I'll  never  say  anything  against  her  again." 

Still  speaking  she  moved  towards  the  divan  upon 
which  they  had  laid  Mowbray  at  full  length,  and 


Proposes 


[25] 

looked  straight  down  upon  him.  His  hair  was  all 
wet  and  shone  with  a  ghastly  bronze  reflection,  and 
upon  his  "coat-collar  and  his  white  shirt  bosom  were 
crimson  stains. 

One  of  the  men  began  to  try  to  remove  the  over- 
coat and  loosen  the  collar  and  tie,  and  with  his  first 
effort  a  great  red  spot  began  to  spread  upon  the 
pillow. 

"No,  no  —  "  Nathalie  exclaimed,  "don't  do  that 

—  don't  touch  him  until  a  doctor  says  what  to  do. 
One  of  you  please  go  just  to  the  corner,  —  a  surgeon 
lives  there;  —  ask  him  to  come  as  quickly  as  possible 
to  No.  18." 

She  laid  her  fingers  softly  on  the  wet  hair  as  she 
spoke  and  shuddered  slightly  as  she  did  so. 

"Look,  Kathryn,"  she  said,  "he  is  terribly  hurt, 

—  he  will  be  ill  a  long,  long  time.    Hurry  upstairs 
and  have  Elna  build  a  fire  in  the  big  guest  room  and 
have  the  bed  opened  to  air  —  they  will  want  to 
carry  him  up  there  just  as  soon  as  his  head  has  been 
dressed." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone. 
Nathalie    stared   fixedly    at   her    own   reddened 
finger-tips  for  a  score  of  seconds  and  then  lifting 


*§ra 


o 

efe 

rvvn 


X 


Q 


•.  .• 

>:. 


her  head  with  a  little  start,  saw  that  her  friend  had 
not  moved. 

"Kathryn!"  she  cried,  "haven't  you  gone?"  — 
Their  eyes  met  and  there  was  that  in  the  younger 
woman's  that  battled  fiercely  and  bore  down  all 
opposition  before  it. 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  turned  and  walked  out  of  the 
room. 

Some  hours  later  on  the  same  evening  Nathalie 
came  into  her  friend's  room.  She  had  on  her  night- 
robe  and  over  its  hand-embroidered  daintiness  there 
floated  Sistine-Madonna-like,  a  long  voluminous 
mantle  of  blue. 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  beside 
the  open  fire.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  book,  but 
she  was  not  reading,  her  face  was  full  of  veiled 
trouble. 

Nathalie  crossed  and  stood  before  her. 

"I  have  just  seen  the  nurse,"  she  said,  "he  is 
asleep,  —  he  is  standing  it  all  very  well.  The  doctor 
will  stay  all  night  and  the  other  nurse  will  come 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  only  danger  will 
be  from  brain-fever." 


t/i\j 
GJO 

o 


She  paused  for  a  second  or  two  and  her  empty 
hands  caught  into  a  fold  of  the  blue  gown  and  held 
it  hard. 

"It  is  very  likely  that  he  will  have  brain-fever, — 
it  is  very  likely  that  he  will  be  ill  —  frightfully  ill. 
The  doctor  did  not  say  so  but  I  could  see  his  thoughts 
as  clearly  as  if  he  had  screamed  them  at  me.  But 
no  matter  how  ill  he  is,  he  will  live,  —  do  you  hear, 
Kathryn,  he  will  live.  They  did  not  bring  him  to 
my  house  to-night  to  die,  and  if  all  the  doctors  in 
the  city  say  that  he  must  die,  it  is  not  going  to 
frighten  me  one  bit." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  lifted  her  sadly-disturbed  eyes  up 
to  the  face  above;  the  face  above  was  strangely, 
earnestly  aglow. 

"It  is  fortunate  that  you  were  here  to-night, 
Kathryn,  fortunate  for  my  new  conventional  re- 
solves, you  know.  For  I  should  have  kept  him  any- 
way —  if  I  had  been  alone  I  should  have  kept  him, 
nothing  would  have  mattered  to  me.  If  there  had 
been  no  one  to  bring  him  in  I  should  have  found 
strength  to  raise  him  up  and  carry  him  myself.  If 
there  had  been  no  doctors  I  should  have  found  the 
knowledge  to  have  bound  up  his  head  properly; 


v 


if  there  had  been  no  nurses  I  should  have  nursed  him 
here  all  alone  by  myself  and  have  saved  his  life  in 
the  end.  I  know  that  I  should  have  been  able.  I 
am  quite  sure." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  could  only  gaze  upon  the  new 
unwonted  exaltation  in  the  face  she  knew  so 
well. 

"He  is  mine  now,  Kathryn;  from  now  on  he  is 
mine  —  all  mine  —  mine  alone.  He  does  not  know 
it  —  he  does  not  know  me  —  but  it  is  so.  I  never 
guessed  that  all  this  was  in  me  but  I  know  now.  I 
feel  as  if  I  knew  everything  to-night  and  that  where 
he  is  concerned  nothing  in  the  whole  world  can  stand 
against  me.  Not  death.  Not  life.  Nothing. 
Nothing." 

Something  like  a  groan  burst  from  Mrs.  d'Ypres' 
lips. 

"Oh,  Nathalie,  Nathalie!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  affectionate  reason  crying  out 
to  unreasoning  love. 

The  younger  woman  suddenly  stooped  and  en- 
folded her  friend  in  her  arms  and  in  the  folds  of  her 
blue  mantle. 

"  Kathryn,  wait  —  only  wait." 


-<§c 
?ropojes 


Then  the  folds  of  the  mantle  that  was  dyed  the 
color  of  hope,  fell  apart,  and  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  looking 
upward  again  saw  in  the  eyes  above  her  the  light 
that  forever  tramples  down  all  and  every  reason  by 
right  of  its  own  superior  truth. 


A 


CHAPTER  III 


THE   BIRD   IX  THE   CAGE 

WEEKS  —  nay,  months  —  passed  before,  upon 
a  certain  morning,  Mowbray,  opening  his 
eyes  in  a  peculiarly  vague  and  desultory  manner, 
became  just  slightly  interested  in  slightly  attempt- 
ing to  wonder  whose  eyes  they  were,  whether  they 
were  really  open,  or  really  shut,  whether  reality  was 
indeed  real  or  only  a  fleeting  dream  for  which  he  did 
not  recollect  to  have  ever  learned  a  name.  Then, 
after  some  minutes  spent  in  studying  the  latter 
proposition  —  it  came  to  him  that  —  perhaps  — 
this  entity,  this  weak,  dizzy,  panting  something, 
this  mass  that  so  completely  lacked  every  quality 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  consider  as  the 
very  fibre  of  his  own  individuality,  might  be  —  per- 
haps was  —  yes,  surely  was  —  himself. 

For  a  brief  space  the  wonder  of  the  return  of  this 
Self,  out  of  the  darkness  in  which  he  seemed  to  have 
been  bound  helpless  through  eons  of  pain,  was  so 
great  that  he  felt  it  swinging  him  back  into  uncon- 


n 

0 


. 


Proposes  < 


[31] 

sciousness  again  in  spite  of  his  longing  to  resist,  but 
just  as  the  mighty  meshes  of  the  power  he  could  not 
fight  seemed  to  be  becoming  altogether  victorious 
once  more,  a  slight  shaft  like  finest  Damascus  steel 
severed  some  of  the  compelling  chords  and  his  eyes 
opened  and  he  who  had  not  known  what  sight  was 
for  so  long  a  time,  saw  suddenly,  and  knew  that  he 
saw  —  that  he  saw. 

His  eyes  —  so  long  useless  —  moved  over  the 
room  in  which  he  lay  with  the  slow  uncertainty  of 
a  little  infant's,  and  much  that  he  saw  he  was  too 
weak  even  to  attempt  to  study  upon.  Yet  could  he 
have  comprehended  surely  no  man  might  desire  a 
better  place  in  which  to  come  back  to  life.  It  was  a 
very  large  room  and  the  whole  of  one  end  was 
formed  by  a  row  of  French  windows  opening  out 
upon  a  gardened  balcony.  On  the  balcony  there 
sang  a  bird  whose  throat  was  full  of  the  cascading 
thrills  and  rills  and  heart-throbs  of  spring.  The 
windows  were  draped  in  filmy  lace  and  on  either 
side  of  the  lace  there  hung  straight  folds  of  sea- 
green  velvet  with  silver  leaves  showing  wherever 
their  edges  were  cast  towards  the  light.  The  walls 
were  dark  gray  with  long  green  panels  set  against 


A 


6 


V 


w  •>» 

ffi 


C2J 


Proposes  > 


[32] 


them,  and  in  each  panel  hung  a  picture  of  one  of  the 
sweet  Barbizon  nymphs  peeping  out  of  a  filigree 
frame.  The  furniture  was  green  with  lines  of  silver 
inlaid  effectively,  the  carpet  was  gray  with  great 
wreaths  and  bows  of  verdure  and  velvet  woven 
into  its  length  and  breadth;  there  were  lamps  and 
other  fixtures  that  twisted  themselves  artistically 
about  in  the  right  and  convenient  spots,  and  then, 
last  of  all,  there  was  a  large  dresser  upon  whose  white 
embroidered  cover  his  weakly  wandering  gaze  noted 
certain  articles  of  toilet  which  were  oddly  inter- 
woven with  the  fancy  that  once  upon  a  time  he  had 
had  a  past. 

And  then  his  eyes  closed  and  he  was  at  once  lost 
again  and  lost  with  a  sensation  of  a  curious  familiar- 
ity with  being  so  lost;  it  was  as  if  he  had  been  numb 
and  dumb  and  paralyzed  so  long  that  that  had  come 
to  be  the  daily  routine  of  life.  While  he  lay  thus, 
many  who  were  quite  of  another  sort  than  he,  came 
in  and  moved  hither  and  thither  and  talked,  and 
the  way  that  they  moved  and  the  things  that  they 
said  seemed  also  curiously  familiar  to  him.  They 
came  to  his  bedside  after  a  while  and  turned  him  and 
let  fold  after  fold  of  memory  unwind  from  his  head 


ESS 


•'"'"• S&0 

.ll%C 


[33] 

until  he  knew  nothing  —  nothing  but  a  blast  like 
zero  cutting  straight  in  upon  his  uncovered  brain, 
and  strange  sounds  of  heavily  out-breathed  pain, 
such  as  he  himself  would  never  under  sharpest  stress 
have  given  forth,  filled  all  the  space  in  the  room  and 
in  some  chasm  of  his  own  being.  And  the  unwind- 
ing, and  the  cutting  cold,  and  the  groans,  —  they 
too  all  seemed  so  very  very  familiar  —  so  painfully 
daily  of  each  day. 

"He  is  doing  admirably,"  a  man's  voice  said  sud- 
denly, and  he  heard  the  voice  just  as  he  had  heard 
the  bird-song.  Hearing  the  voice  he  knew  that  he 
had  also  heard  the  bird-song,  and  realized  that  he 
heard  again  —  that  he  heard. 

They  were  shutting  out  the  cold  now  —  shutting 
it  out  once  around  —  shutting  it  out  twice  around  — 
shutting  it  out  more  and  more  and  more  until  it 
was  no  wonder  that  only  the  bird-song  —  the  song 
from  a  heart  fairly  brimming  with  love  —  could 
have  penetrated  through  those  endless  windings. 
He  slept  then  —  slept  a  long  time  again,  slept  until 
they  woke  him  by  moving  his  head.  And  again  he 
heard  —  they  must  have  removed  some  of  the  band- 
ages—  he  heard  so  plainly. 


\  I 

V 

k/t 


A 


W 

$y 
/• 

:/ 


<^^^^^^-^~""-~^^^^ 


C/pJ 

t 
(\ 

\  ft 

n 


Q 

/  \ 


-••«•—••— -£)•*•.. 


[34] 

"We  shall  know  in  a  few  days  now,"  said  the  same 
masculine  voice  that  had  spoken  before,  and  then 
a  woman's  voice,  quiet  and  distinct,  asked,  "You 
allow  hope?" 

A  sudden  longing  to  see  the  faces  and  read  the 
truth  shot  over  him  so  quickly  that  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  sensation  drove  his  mind  straight  out 
to  sea  again,  and  yet  —  as  the  rush  of  silence  rose 
up  about  his  ears,  another  voice  —  a  voice  that  he 
had  never  known  and  yet  knew  now  to  be  sweetly 
common  in  that  room  of  pain  —  came  quickly, 
sharply  across  into  the  very  heart  of  his  failing 
senses,  stabbing  them  back  to  life  just  as  the  drowned 
are  set  breathing  by  a  blow. 

"WTiat  a  question!"  this  voice  cried,  with  im- 
patience ringing  hope  across  then*  dubious  con- 
sideration, "of  course  he  will  recover  and  recover 
completely.  Hasn't  he  been  given  up  over  and 
over  again,  and  is  n't  he  lying  there  just  as  alive 
as  can  be?" 

What  was  answered  he  could  not  know  for  the 
madness  of  his  desire  to  thank  the  last  speaker  for 
her  fervent  faith  was  so  much  more  than  he  had 
strength  to  feel  that  its  leap  of  longing  overleapt 


\    / 
v  t 


v-:*;  >•    . 

•    .    •• 


^    -OC:>C^CP 

^)  ^fcn^oman Proposes  (M8>  ¥ 

rv-"V*-v-i — /SC^SS^S rv""^"^": S&A 

C^;      \ 

y 


x 


all  else  and  sank  him  at  once  deep,  deep  into  the 
great  restful  gulf  of  Oblivion.  And  again  for  a  long 
while  he  knew  nothing. 

But  the  next  returning  was  worth  waiting  for,  for 
it  came  with  a  beautiful  fulness  of  meaning,  and  all 
his  senses  welcomed  his  soul  back  to  its  own  this 
time.  His  eyes  only  wandered  a  little  and  then 
went  straight  to  the  window-light  and  the  window 
was  open  —  the  central  one  of  the  five  —  and  the 
silver  dusk  was  falling  without  and  the  twilight 
breeze  was  drifting  the  filmy  lace  in  towards  him, 
and,  in  the  oval  of  the  archway,  a  woman  in  a  nurse's 
white  uniform  was  standing  arranging  some  lilies 
in  a  bowl  upon  the  table.  The  woman's  back  was 
towards  him,  but  every  line  of  her  figure  was  so  in- 
stinct with  youth  and  grace  and  health  that  he  felt 
most  blissfully  content  to  just  lie  still  and  watch 
her,  and  while  he  watched  her  he  found  himself 
beginning  to  remember  and  then  remembering,  not 
only  without  any  effort,  but  really  quite  easily, 
the  bird-song,  the  man's  voice,  the  woman's  voice, 
and  then  that  other  woman's  voice  with  its  gorgeous, 
breathless,  impatient  cry  of  certain  hope,  of  absolute 
refusal  to  admit  the  doubt  that  he  might  live.  And, 


R 

i) 

x 


ftoposes 


remembering  the  latter  voice  and  looking  on  the 
sweet  colorless  figure  standing  between  his  sick-bed 
and  the  falling  night,  he  felt  the  bird-song  thrilling 
subtly  and  weirdly  through  every  fibre  of  his  wasted 
frame,  and  knew  that  his  breath  coming  and  going 
in  feeble  gasps  was  carrying  up  a  prayer  of  thanks- 
giving to  his  Maker  for  that  his  mind  was  all  right, 
for  that  whatever  had  come  upon  him  he  was  at  all 
events  surviving  it,  and  for  something  else  —  some 
shadowy  something  else,  some  something  else  too 
intangible  to  grasp,  but  which  nevertheless  was 
existent  —  alive  —  about  him  —  within  him  —  to 
be  heard  in  the  bird-song  —  to  be  felt  in  one's  heart 
—  to  be  — 

But  he  had  drifted  off  again,  and  the  pillow  shap- 
ing itself  softly  to  his  head  and  the  blessed  relief  from 
pain  were  all  that  he  knew  for  some  more  many 
days. 

Then  it  was  morning,  and  without,  in  the  sunshine 
the  bird  was  carolling  gayly,  and  within,  the  white 
lilies  had  turned  into  sun-dipped  daffodils  whose 
heads  moved  slightly  when  the  breeze  stole  in  to 
kiss  them.  The  man  on  the  bed,  looking  first  to 
these,  turned  his  head  then,  and  looked  to  something 


£> 


•~<§c: 
'Reposes 


[37] 

better  —  better  even  than  sunshine,  bird-song,  or 
flowers  —  looked  straight  up  into  the  face  of  the 
little  nurse,  —  for  she  was  standing  at  his  bedside 
contemplating  him  with  a  smile  and  eyes  filled  full 
of  shining  tears. 

It  was  such  a  strange  look  —  that  first  one  to  pass 
between  them.  That  this  was  she  whose  voice  had 
first  severed  his  bondage  he  could  not  doubt,  — 
there  are  some  things  that  we  know  must  be,  because 
they  could  not  possibly  be  otherwise.  And  so,  part- 
ing his  lips,  he  tried  to  speak  —  but  no  sound  came. 

She  saw  the  effort  and  bending  quickly  above  him, 
covered  his  mouth  at  once  with  her  hand.  Her 
eyes,  seen  closer  thus,  appeared  yet  larger  and  more 
lustrous  behind  their  veil  of  tears,  and  her  hand 
which  lay  upon  his  lips  filled  him  with  a  sense  of 
being  given  freely  in  his  helplessness  that  which  his 
strength  might  perhaps  have  easily  craved  and  lost. 

"I  have  always  known  that  you  would  get  well," 
she  said,  and  it  was  the  same  voice,  just  as  he  had 
foreseen. 

"You  will  have  to  lie  here  like  a  baby  for  days 
and  days  and  days,"  she  went  on  gently  after  a 
minute,  "and  you  must  do  just  as  we  bid  you. 


v 


>S/fien\%man  Proposes  | 


Then  after  a  while  you  will  be  well  —  just  as  well 
as  you  ever  were  before." 

As  she  spoke  his  lips  parted  faintly  against  the 
fingers  laid  over  them.  For  his  life  he  could  not 
have  spoken  again  but  he  did  manage  to  master 
his  weakness  sufficiently  to  so  testify  his  utter  resig- 
nation to  her  will.  He  saw  two  great  tears  spring 
out  upon  her  long  lashes,  she  lifted  her  hand  at 
once  and  turned  and  left  the  room.  His  conscious- 
ness stayed  by  him  for  several  seconds  after  she  was 
gone,  and  then,  when  it  left  him,  it  slipped  sweetly 
out  into  the  sunshine  and  the  bird-song,  and  her  fin- 
gers seemed  to  have  pressed  his  spirit  back  into  the 
world  of  dreams  again. 

"I  should  give  him  all  the  beef-tea  that  you  can 
pour  down,"  said  the  strong  masculine  voice,  "the 
fever  has  left  him  a  mere  shadow,  —  we  must  begin 
now  to  build  up  his  vitality  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
There  will  be  no  further  danger  from  the  wound  — 
it  is  practically  healed.  Just  feed  him,  feed  him 
continually.  Regularly.  Once  an  hour.  It  won't 
hurt  to  rouse  him.  We'll  want  to  see  him  beginning 
to  come  to  his  senses  soon,  anyway." 


A 


A 


" 


vtx 

GSr 


[39] 


"It  shall  be  done,"  said  a  woman's  voice  —  the 
low  distinct  voice  that  had  spoken  once  before. 
Mowbray  remembered  the  voice  although  it  was  not 
the  voice.  His  senses  whirled  unpleasantly  over  such 
a  mistake  in  voices  and  he  felt  that  black,  unprofit- 
able hopelessness  which  only  a  slight  contretemps 
may  throw  so  heavily  upon  the  spirit  of  the  bodily 
disabled.  What  difference  does  it  make  who  feeds 
us  and  cares  for  us  so  that  we  be  of  a  certainty  fed 
and  cared  for?  No  difference  at  all  —  or  perhaps 
the  difference  of  Me  and  death.  It  seemed  to  the 
sick  man  to  be  the  latter  in  his  own  case  and  he 
feared  to  wonder  if  he  had  perchance  been  dream- 
ing, and  then  •  — 

Then  he  opened  his  eyes  and  with  a  sudden  ebbing 
inflow  of  joyous  relief  he  saw  her  —  the  right  her  — 
leaning  over  him. 

"  Hush  —  sh  —  sh  !  "  she  said,  whispering,  "  do  you 
know  I  never  told  any  one  about  your  trying  to  speak 
the  other  day?  They  might  have  scolded,  —  or 
they  might  not  have  believed  me,  —  and  anyway  I 
was  so  happy  over  your  looking  up  at  me  the  first 
of  all  that  I  could  not  bear  to  tell  one  single  other 
person  about  it." 


0 
v 


A 


A 


V 


i<  "Ren  Woman  Troposes 


[40] 

She  smiled  although  her  eyes  were  wet  —  as  wet 
as  they  had  been  the  other  time.  He  tried  to  smile 
too,  —  and  managed  it  —  although  it  was  a  very 
faint  smile. 

"The  doctor  says  that  you  are  quite  out  of  danger 
now,  and  that  in  a  few  days  —  after  you  begin  to 
eat  and  regain  your  strength  —  you  will  come  to 
your  senses." 

Her  glance  danced  with  amusement  even  through 
its  liquid  mist,  and  he  managed  another  faint  smile. 

"It  is  our  little  secret,"  she  continued,  still 
whispering,  "no  one  is  to  know  —  no  one  but  us; 
if  I  told  them  that  you  had  tried  to  speak  they  would 
say  that  it  was  only  delirium  anyway,  so  where  is 
the  use?" 

She  looked  so  charming,  bending  there  above 
him  —  surely  the  fairest  nurse  that  ever  stood  be- 
tween a  sick-bed  and  the  budding  spring-time.  He 
kept  his  fascinated  eyes  riveted  upon  the  flush  and 
glow  of  her  face  and  she  continued  to  smile  into 
them  until  of  a  sudden  she  seemed  to  be  reminded  of 
some  injunction  regarding  them,  and  closed  them  at 
once  with  the  soft  pressure  of  her  little  hand. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  getting  well,"  she 


ctasz: 


K  ^KeaA^oman?ropo5es 


[41] 

said  then,  with  the  ring  of  fervent  truth  in  her  tone, 
"but  you  must  not  get  even  one  little  bit  tired; 
you  must  sleep  now." 

And,  as  if  her  lightest  wish  was  a  superior's  com- 
mand he  straightway  slept  once  more. 

The  next  day  was  fair,  and  the  next,  and  the 
next,  —  the  sun  grew  ever  brighter  and  warmer, 
the  bird  cantos  had  become  a  veritable  epic  of  love 
fulfilled.  Voices  diversified,  shadows  gained  sub- 
stance, food  turned  from  beef-tea  into  a  real  appe- 
tite for  the  same,  and  the  worn,  wasted  figure  with 
the  white-swathed  head  underwent  strange  meta- 
morphoses like  all  about  it  and  slowly  altered  back 
into  a  thing  of  muscles  arid  manhood,  a  creature  of 
brain  and  reason,  and  finally  —  Captain  Francis 
Mowbray. 

At  first  he  was  mainly  interested  in  vague  won- 
dering as  to  where  he  was  and  what  had  happened 
to  him;  then  his  mind  amused  itself  in  piecing  to- 
gether the  personnel  of  his  entourage  until  he  knew 
that  he  had  two  nurses,  a  doctor,  a  surgeon,  and  a 
valet,  in  attendance  upon  him.  It  took  two  days 
of  reiterated  beef-juice  to  so  strengthen  his  intellect 
that  it  then  advanced  onward  to  the  battle  ground 


RJ 


:/ 


£vter"«$? 

?sx/#.:>::....v. 


C/ASj 

610 

•Q 

n 

t      ; 
\t 


of  its  old  habits  of  thought  sufficiently  to  suddenly 
cry  out  with  an  inward  pang  that  was  most  bitterly 
real  even  if  only  mental,  "My  God!  what  this  must 
be  costing!"  And  then,  as  he  was  still  too  weak  for 
speech,  he  was  obliged  even  to  forego  such  relief  as 
impatience  may  find  in  questions  and  continue  to  lie 
in  the  lap  of  luxury  even  if  it  should  later  be  certainly 
going  to  mortgage  his  whole  future. 

For  he  was  nothing  but  a  poor  soldier  —  only  a 
captain  in  the  army. 


o 

GiS> 

f\Vi 


V 


fife 

fV/7 


Q% 

0 


T^f  '•'.ft 

*J\^      ./G 


yC  "~^a 


A 


Q 


0 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   BIRD   SINGS  IN  ITS   CAGE 

THE  pretty  nurse  stood  in  the  window  putting 
fresh  flowers  in  the  bowl  that  changed  its 
colors  and  form  daily.  The  flowers  were  narcissuses 
and  then-  starry  heads  rose  erect  upon  long  and  deli- 
cate stems  of  pale,  pale  green  which  one  of  the 
nurse's  hands  held  tenderly  in  place  while  the  other 
arranged  cross  crystallizations  of  asparagus  vine 
so  as  to  support  the  straight  up-and-down  effect. 
The  nurse's  hands  were  as  waxy  white  as  the  nar- 
cissus' petals,  as  firmly  delicate  as  their  pale  green 
stems.  Mowbray,  lying  as  usual  upon  the  large 
brass  bed  whose  draperies  had  been  banished  the 
night  he  entered  there,  was  singularly  happy  and 
content  to  watch  through  half-closed  eyelids  those 
fingers  wandering  in  and  out  among  the  white  and 
green.  The  bird  was  singing  as  ever,  his  dreams 
were  become  realities,  his  hopes  were  trembling  on 
the  border-land  of  breathing  life;  the  world  at  large 


v 

/  % 

\  / 
y 


>oC""'v>o- 


I  \ 


"When^oman  ?ropojes 


[44] 

was  also  hedging  on  a  new  entrance  into  a  possible 
re-awakening,  —  the  murmurs  of  spring  were  par- 
ticularly reiterant  and  loud  this  spring,  forces  that 
hardly  knew  their  own  force  were  stirring  to  life 
with  a  strength  that  this  time  might  refuse  to 
be  put  down.  Another  swaying  outside  upon  a 
branch  above  where  his  mate  was  brooding  voiced 
unconsciously  a  cry  that  should  ever  be  a  song  and 
yet  is,  alas,  too  often  a  wail  or,  worse  yet,  a  moan. 
Those  who  had  ears  for  bird-song,  cry,  and  moan 
were  toiling  sleeplessly  while  others  who  heard  noth- 
ing or  refused  attention  to  what  they  did  hear,  were 
walking  blindly  on  —  on  —  on. 

So  many,  many  threads  gathered  into  the  unopened 
fist  of  Fate!  —  Weaving,  weaving,  weaving,  day  in  — 
night  out.  Back  and  forth  flew  the  shuttle  and  into 
that  wondrous  warp  and  woof  went  bird-song  and 
hunger-sob,  editorial  and  report  of  mine-accident, 
discontent,  willful  deafness  to  the  appeal  of  right, 
unselfish  devotion,  selfish  neglect  of  duty,  the  love 
of  a  woman  who  had  never  loved,  and  the  Divine 
Omnipotence  of  God. 

They  were  all  weaving  and  interweaving  cease- 
lessly, each  second  adding  to  the  strength  of  then* 


[45] 

fabric,  —  and  the  breeze  that  floated  abroad  carry- 
ing the  pollen  of  life  from  blossom  to  blossom,  inter- 
mingled with  the  ether  that  bore  hither  and  thither 
from  soul  to  soul  the  mysterious  message  of  what 
was  soon  to  be. 

Mowbray,  watching  the  figure  in  the  window, 
became  conscious  after  a  long  spell  of  dreamy  con- 
templation, of  the  certainty  that  when  she  was 
finished  she  would  turn  to  him.  The  certainty  gave 
him  great  content  to  wait  and  made  the  waiting  a 
further  joy  of  contemplation.  Her  head  was  so 
charmingly  upborne  by  the  white  throat  that  rose 
out  of  the  smooth  folds  of  the  little  linen  kerchief; 
every  line  of  her  figure  was  sweet  with  the  mixed 
grace  of  childish  curves  lingering  into  womanhood; 
and  her  hair,  just  stirred  by  the  breeze,  and  her 
ear,  just  revealed  by  the  same  kindly  fairy;  and 
her  smile,  just  half  showing  itself  when  the  bird 
hushed  his  chant  to  the  soft  liquid  gasps  that  gave 
him  renewal  of  strength  and  breath;  and  her 
lashes,  downcast  towards  the  happy  quivering 
flowers. 

Yes,  Mowbray  was  well  content  to  lie  still  and 
wait. 


A 


/  V 


Proposes 


[46] 


But  at  last  she  was  all  through  with  her  task  and 
in  the  same  instant  she  came  directly  to  him  just  as 
he  had  hoped.  Her  step  was  very  light  at  first  and 
the  glance  that  she  directed  towards  him  was  one  of 
hushed  inquiry;  but  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
straight  at  her  and  at  the  sight  the  color  rose  up  all 
over  her  face,  an  exceeding  gladness  overspread  her 
eyes  and  lips,  and  quickly  approaching  the  bed-side 
she  exclaimed  with  joyous  conviction, 

"Oh,  you  are  much,  much  better!" 

He  tried  to  raise  his  hand  but  he  could  not  manage 
the  effort;  so  he  smiled. 

She  understood;  he  saw  her  white  throat  swell 
and  contract  quickly  as  the  ready  mist  fled  over  her 
joyous  eyes,  and  then  she  pulled  a  little  low  chair 
close  beside  the  bed,  sank  down  upon  it,  and  drew 
one  of  his  long,  thin,  wasted  hands  into  the  warm 
clasp  of  her  own  two. 

"In  a  few  days,"  she  said,  looking  deep  into  the 
question  of  his  sunken  eyes,  "in  a  few  days  more 
we  shall  be  able  to  talk  together." 

He  panted  hard  for  breath;  one  importunate 
longing  to  know  choked  him  worse  than  all  else. 

"  Where  —  am  —  I?  "  he  managed  at  last. 


A 


;'  \ 

o 

u 


She  looked  thoughtfully  at  him. 

"You  are  in  a  private  hospital,"  she  answered 
gently. 

He  could  not  speak  again  —  the  muscles  of  his 
throat  seemed  as  if  paralyzed  by  their  long  disuse, 
but  his  eyes  wandered  here  and  there  over  the 
limitless  luxury  of  the  room  and  then  sought  her 
face.  A  great  blush  arose  and  tinged  all  her  features. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "I  will  never  lie  to 
you  again;  it  was  agreed  that  we  should  tell  you 
that  you  were  in  a  hospital." 

He  opened  his  lips  —  but  this  time  no  sound 
came. 

"  You  are  in  the  house  before  which  you  met  with 
the  accident,"  she  told  him  next,  as  if  that  were  the 
answer  he  craved.  Then  she  raised  his  hand  and 
looked  at  the  blue  veins  that  showed  so  plainly 
and  seemed  to  measure  his  weakness  and  to  con- 
sider; it  was  a  fearfully  pitiful,  strengthless  hand 
for  a  man  to  have  to  own,  and  he  saw  her  face  fill 
with  such  a  tender  sorrow  as  she  lowered  her  eyes 
upon  it  that  the  insistent  question  beset  him  worse 
than  ever,  and  his  own  eyes  cried  aloud  what  his 
will  was  too  weak  to  voice. 


\ 
\  / 


•5 


[48] 

From  his  eyes  with  their  passionate  pleading  to 
his  hand  lying  helpless  in  hers,  her  gaze  went  back 
and  forth  —  back  and  forth.  Finally  she  lifted  up 
the  hand  and  he  thought  for  an  instant  that  she  was 
going  to  kiss  it,  and  perhaps  she  thought  so  too,  — 
at  first,  —  but  then  she  only  rested  her  chin  against 
it  and,  holding  it  thus,  pressed  softly  and  warmly 
against  the  soft  warmth  of  her  own  throat,  she  said 
gently,  "You  are  in  my  house." 

Then  she  laid  his  hand  back  upon  his  bosom,  rose 
quickly  from  the  chair,  crossed  to  the  dresser,  took 
off  her  white  cap  and  apron,  gathered  them  up  in 
one  hand  and  left  the  room  at  once. 


'. : 

M 

&/! 


w 

,'\ 


In  her  own  boudoir  Nathalie  found  Kathryn 
d'Ypres. 

"Well,  I  have  told  him!"  she  announced,  begin- 
ning to  unbutton  her  uniform,  —  "  he  knows  now." 

"My  dear!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  d'Ypres. 

"Yes,  I  told  him.  He  is  a  great  deal  more  in  his 
mind  than  the  doctor  or  any  one  guesses.  He  wants 
to  know  things;  only  he  is  n't  able  to  speak,  so 
nobody  thinks  so.  He  wanted  to  know  where  he 
was  so  I  told  him.  I  told  him  a  hospital  and  he  did  n't 


K  ~^a  Woman  Proposes 


[49] 

believe  it  so  I  told  him  it  was  my  house.  He'll  be 
able  to  sleep  now  and  that  will  do  him  good." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres'  eyes  approximated  Mowbray's  in 
the  force  of  their  further  question.  Nathalie  was 
as  ever  responsive. 

"It's  no  use  wanting  to  know  what  he  said  be- 
cause he  did  n't  say  anything  —  he 's  too  weak. 
But  it  really  is  n't  necessary  for  him  to  say  anything 
because  if  I  can  be  alone  with  him  I  can  tell 
exactly  what  he  would  say  if  he  could,  and  of  course 
it's  no  strain  on  him  because  I  can  answer  in  words." 

By  this  time  she  had  shed  the  uniform  and  was 
pulling  down  the  prim  little  coiffure  which  went  with 
it. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  who  you  were,"  Mrs.  d'Ypres 
asked. 

"No;  he  would  n't  know  who  I  was  anyway." 

"He  might  remember  things  that  were  said  in  the 
papers,  dear." 

"Then  I  don't  want  him  to  know  who  I  am;  I 
don't  want  him  to  remember  me  by  those  things 
that  were  said  in  the  papers."  She  was  shaking 
her  hair  about  her  face  as  she  spoke,  and  her  tone 
verged  suddenly  towards  passionate  protest.  "I 


!    } 


[50] 


don't  want  him  to  measure  me  by  anything  but  just 
what  I  am  to  him  —  by  just  what  I  have  been  since 
I  have  known  him.  No  one  in  the  world  ever  ought 
to  judge  any  one  by  any  other  standard  than  just 
what  they  are  for  and  to  that  person  himself." 

She  parted  her  hair  into  two  thick  masses  and 
holding  them  back  upon  either  temple  with  out- 
spread fingers,  looked  steadily  forth  and  down  upon 
her  friend. 

"Don't  you  see  that  I  am  not  to  be  measured 
now  by  any  standard  of  last  winter?  Have  n't  I 
altered?  —  am  I  not  altering  every  day?  I  never 
guessed  that  there  could  be  such  a  sensation  of 
change  as  I  feel  each  second  that  I  spend  in  there 
with  huii.  I  feel  myself  growing  different  —  I  feel 
myself  growing  more  different  all  the  time.  I  can 
hardly  wait  for  him  to  be  strong  enough  so  that  I 
may  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  kept  silent  a  little;  then  she  said, 
"And  your  resolution  to  become  thoroughly  con- 
ventional? " 

Nathalie  heaped  her  hair  yet  more  together. 
"I  am  not  forgetting  that,"  she  said,  "I  am  not 
forgetting  anything." 


O 


r 


o 


l/AJ 

m 

ft 


n  Proposes 


[51] 


She  passed  into  her  dressing-room  beyond  and 
returned  in  a  minute  fastening  the  knots  of  a  silken 
tea-gown. 

"  To  think  that  I  used  to  often  wonder  why  I  was 
born,"  —  she  paused  before  a  large  triple  mirror 
and  began  to  coil  her  hair  into  form  as  she  spoke, 
"  I  could  not  understand  at  all  then  —  and  now  I 
see  it  all  so  clearly  —  and  know  it  all  so  well." 

"My  dear  child!"  said  the  friend,  fondly;  in  her 
voice  lay  an  echo  that  was  not  without  an  admoni- 
tory note. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  said  the 
younger  woman,  smiling,  "don't  worry,  dear  Kath- 
ryn;  only  wait  and  see!" 

"I  shall  wait,"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  said. 

"Then  you  shall  see."  She  paused  a  minute 
and  then  she  suddenly  threw  her  arms  about  her 
friend's  neck.  "Oh,  Kathryn,  the  power  —  the 
power  of  loving  a  man  in  the  way  that  I  love.  You 
know  I  told  you  that  nothing  could  stand  against 
it.  Nothing  could.  Nothing  has.  It  is  all  in  his 
eyes  each  time  that  I  see  them.  They  are  my  eyes. 
I  knew  it  from  the  beginning.  He  is  all  mine." 


0 

eb 

r\Vl 


/  \ 


\  / 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   DAWN    OF   SERIOUS   CONSIDERATION 

MRS.  D'YPR^S  sat  in  the  window  end  of  the 
room,  embroidering.  Captain  Mowbray 
lay  in  a  long  invalid  chair  which  had  been  so  arranged 
that  the  fresh  June  air  but  not  the  sparkling  sun- 
light was  freely  his.  The  bandages  were  gone  from 
his  head,  only  an  oblong  piece  of  black  sticking 
plaster  covered  the  upper  part  of  his  left  temple; 
his  arms  were  folded  reposefully  on  his  bosom,  his 
long  figure  was  draped  in  an  intercrossed  lounging 
gown  of  some  eastern  silk  and  linen  weave,  and  he 
was  —  take  it  all  in  all  —  the  picture  of  an  abso- 
lutely perfect  convalescence  lying  in  the  midst  of 
wishes  fulfilled. 

Nathalie,  in  the  primmest  of  blue  silk  waists  and 
cloth  skirts,  sat  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
invalid  chair. 

"I  believe,"  the  captain  said,  turning  his  head 
to  another  position  upon  the  pillow  that  was  skil- 


fully  buckled  to  just  the  most  right  and  comfort- 
able spot  upon  the  chair-back,  "I  believe  that  the 
interdiction  is  now  removed  and  that  I  may  resume 
the  power  of  speech?  " 

As  in  turning  his  head  he  had  turned  it  so  that  he 
looked  directly  at  Nathalie,  that  young  woman  at 
once  appropriated  his  question  unto  herself  and 
answered  promptly, 

"Yes,  you  may  talk  —  but  you  must  not  talk 
more  than  an  hour.  The  doctor  said  that  you  might 
talk  for  an  hour  to-day  —  though  of  course  he 
meant  that  I  could  talk  part  of  the  hour." 

He  smiled  a  little  at  that. 

"I  shall  attempt  to  remember,"  he  said,  —  "and 
I  believe  that  it  will  be  very  easy,  for  what  I  want 
to  do  is  to  ask  some  questions,  and  after  each  there 
will  be  long  stretches  during  which  I  shall  be  only 
too  content  to  be  quiet  and  listen  to  the  answers." 

"That  will  be  nice,"  said  Nathalie,  "for  I  love  to 
answer  by  the  hour." 

She  paused  for  a  few  seconds  and  then  said, 
"What  is  it  that  you  want  to  know  first?" 

"How  long  have  I  been  ill?" 

"Three  months  and  a  little  more.     It's  a  long 


w 

v 


n  Proposes  <$ 


[54] 

time  — isn't  it?"  — she  sighed.  "But  it's  been 
such  fun  taking  care  of  you,"  she  added  in  sudden 
joyous  recollection. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  can  ever  repay  you  for  all 
your  kindness,"  he  said,  slowly,  "in  fact  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  nothing  ever  can  repay  such 
kindness.  I  shall  never  even  be  able  to  find  suitable 
words  to  express  what  -I  feel  about  it  all." 

"Oh,  never  mind  anything  about  that,"  she  broke 
in,  becoming  suddenly  pink  with  an  especially  vivid 
recurrence  to  conventionality;  "the  doctor  said 
that  nothing  must  disturb  you  and  trying  to  say 
things  that  you  cannot  think  of  is  always  so  hard. 
You  are  to  have  everything  bright  and  cheerful  and 
nothing  distressing,  and  all  this  —  " 

"Do  you  think  'all  this,'  as  you  call  it,  is  dis- 
tressing?" he  asked,  with  a  little  amusement. 

"No,  but  it's  distressing  me.  Because  all  we  did 
we  so  wanted  to  do,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  do,  and 
you  did  n't  die  in  the  end,  and  that  has  been  such 
a  joy.  And  really  I  am  the  one  to  be  grateful." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  ever  so  slightly. 

"You  are  surely  very  good  to  take  that  view," 
said  Mowbray  simply;  and  then,  after  a  little  he 


o 

V 


r\ 
0 


/  \ 


[55] 

went  on  to  another  question,  "I  presume  that  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  mail  for  me  somewhere?" 

"Stacks,"  she  replied,  —  "but  you  can't  have 
any  of  your  letters  until  next  week,  —  the  doctor 
said  you  could  n't  be  agitated." 

Mowbray  turned  his  head  slightly  upon  the  pillow. 

"I  hope  that  you  don't  mind?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"Not  at  all.  But  the  letters  could  not  agitate 
me.  I  have  no  family,  and  I  have  long  since  grown 
used  to  seeing  my  intimates  detailed  somewhere 
else." 

Nathalie  suddenly  leaned  forward. 

"Do  please  tell  me  something,"  she  asked;  "why 
did  n't  you  ever  marry?  Ever  since  I  first  saw 
you  I  have  been  wondering  that." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  somewhat  more  distinctly. 
Mowbray  smiled  broadly. 

"  I  never  could  afford  to  marry,"  he  said,  bluntly. 
"I've  no  private  fortune." 

"Oh!" 

"You  don't  know  much  of  army  life,  I  take  it?" 

"Only  you." 

"There  is  quite  a  bit  of  it  beside.    If  you  knew 


6 


A 


4/^«.-t<....><_<2'\i-" — «~~:wcy**cx — *.~..u^'-.. 

A>%<(  ^Ken  Woman  ?roposes  > 


M 

N 


[56] 

more  about  it  you'd  know  that  it  isn't  a  bed  of 
roses  for  a  woman  when  she  has  nothing  besides  her 
husband's  pay  to  live  on." 

He  turned  his  face  away  from  her  for  a  minute, 
and  then  he  turned  it  back  again.  She  was  looking 
earnest  but  very  puzzled. 

"I  thought  that  all  girls  liked  to  marry  into  the 
army,"  she  said. 

"The  beginnings  of  most  things  are  simple  and 
of  many  very  pleasant,"  said  the  captain,  "never- 
theless, I  think  that  when  it  comes  to  discussing  the 
lot  of  the  soldier's  wife  I  may  speak  with  some 
authority  —  " 

"But  I  would  believe  you  anyway,"  she  inter- 
rupted. 

He  could  not  forbear  a  smile  of  flashing  sympathy. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  "you  see  as  a  woman  you 
ought  to  take  an  interest  because  I  have  rather 
dedicated  myself  to  bettering  the  army  woman's 
lot  —  I've  seen  so  much  of  its  hard  side." 
»  "Oh,  are  you  trying  to  better  something?"  said 
Nathalie.  "  How  interesting ! — I  have  always  wanted 
to  do  good  myself  but  the  people  I  know  only  give 
teas.  Of  course  I  sign  all  the  papers  they  bring  for 


/ : 


[57] 

money  always  but  that  is  n't  like  a  real  man  looking 
right  at  you  and  trying  to  do  good  —  is  it?  Please 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

Again  she  leaned  forward  —  all  her  attention 
fixed  upon  his  face. 

"Nathalie,"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  from  her  seat  by 
the  window,  "you  must  not  lead  the  captain  on  to 
talk  too  much." 

"I  am  not  leading  him  on,"  retorted  Nathalie; 
"he  is  lying  just  as  still  as  ever." 

"She  is  not  tiring  me,"  said  the  invalid;  "instead 
she  is  inspiring  me  with  more  and  more  strength  to 
ask  questions." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  that  it  was  you  who  were  going  to 
tell  me  things,"  she  said.  "Well,  what  is  it  that  you 
want  to  know  next?  " 

"What  I  want  to  know  most  of  all  is  something 
that  I  could  hardly  expect  you  to  be  able  to  tell  me." 

"Ask,  —  perhaps  Kathryn  will  know  if  I  don't." 

"There  was  a  bill  about  the  army  pay  coming  up 
just  when  —  " 

"Did  you  have  anything  to  do  with  that  bill?  " 
her  eyes  opened  widely  as  she  spoke. 

"Yes;  it  was  that  which  brought  me  here."    He 


A 

X 

n 


0 


^tun  woman  Proposes 


[58] 

paused,  but  she  was  silent.  "Ah,  I  see  that  it 
was  defeated,"  he  added. 

"Yes,  it  was,"  she  admitted  frankly. 

"Nathalie!"  cried  Mrs.  d'Ypres. 

"I  did  not  startle  him,  Kathryn,  —  he  guessed  it 
himself,"  her  tone  was  contrite;  then,  quickly, 
"but  it  really  wasn't  exactly  defeated,  —  it  was 
laid  over  or  put  aside  or  whatever  it  is  that  they  do 
that  is  perfectly  polite  and  ends  things.  They  did 
just  the  same  thing  with  the  labor  bill  last  week  — 
the  papers  have  been  full  of  it." 

Mowbray  was  still  for  a  few  minutes,  his  lips 
tightly  compressed. 

"The  labor  bill  deserved  better  treatment,"  he 
said  finally  with  a  sort  of  bracing  up. 

"  Did  n't  yours  deserve  better  treatment,  too?  " 

He  smiled.  "That  is  of  course,"  he  answered  and 
closed  his  eyes  for  a  minute  or  two  before  opening 
them  with  a  smile  that  was  very  fine  under  the  cir- 
cumstances; "now  tell  me  what  else  has  happened 
during  the  three  months.  Don't  hesitate  —  I  am 
prepared  for  any  worst." 

"There  isn't  anything  very  bad;  —  just  a  king 
is  dead  and  Russia  is  awful  as  usual  and  —  and  — 


\  / 
£ 


^hen^oman  Proposes 


[59] 

oh,  yes,  since  the  labor  bill  went  over  there  have 
been  strikes  and  in  some  places  they  are  afraid  there 
may  be  real  riots." 

"That's  terrible,"  said  the  man,  gravely;  "the 
world  's  in  a  sad  way  —  is  n't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  companion,  cheerfully,  "but  so 
much  is  always  in  a  sad  way." 

He  had  to  smile  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"Which  are  you?"  he  asked,  "thoughtless?  — 
or  a  philosopher?" 

She  turned  two  startled  eyes  upon  him.  "  I  don't 
know;  I  never  thought  about  it.  One  reads  such 
things  so  often  in  the  papers,  —  one  only  thinks  of 
them  as  —  as  stories." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mowbray,  "we  forget  that 
they  're  real  —  the  part  that  is  true,  —  in  those 
newspaper  stories.  I'm  very  much  the  same,  I 
suppose,  and  I  suppose  also  that  we  ought  to  be 
very  thankful  for  our  inability  to  realize  what  is 
true." 

She  frowned  a  little  in  the  fervor  of  her  attention, 
and  then  she  nodded. 

"Yes,  of  course  we  ought  to  be  grateful  that  we 
cannot  realize  it.  But  why  do  you  say  that  you 


0 


rs 

u 


\  t 

y 


M 


[60] 

are  the  same  as  every  one  else,  —  you're  iwt  the 
same,  you're  different,  I  saw  that  the  very  first 
day." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  but  her  friend  went  straight 
on,  — 

"And  seeing  how  different  you  were  made  me 
want  to  be  different  too.  I  want  you  to  teach  me 
to  be  different  —  just  in  the  same  way  that  you 

are." 

•»  • .        »•     •' '  •••'• 

"How,  different? ".asked  the  officer,  "to  what 
kind  and  degree  of  variation  do  you  aspire?" 

"I  want  to  be  better  and  to  do  good;  it  is  just 
as  I  said  before,  —  I  want  to  help  on  things,  -*•  you 
know  the  feeling." 

Francis  Mowbray  turned  his  =  head  away  and 
something  like  a  sigh  passed  over  his  lips. 

"I  am  not  given  to  introspection,  but  do  I  know 
the  feeling?"  -  he  said,  —  "I  wonder j" 

"Yes;  you  know  it,"  said  Nathalie,  in  her- tone  of 
conviction,  -  " you  know  that  you  help;  —  you 
know  why  you  came  here,  —  it  was  n't  for  any 
selfish  purpose  surely.  The  first  time  that  I  saw  you, 
you  were  not  enjoying  yourself,  you  were  standing 
looking  at  the  others  and  thinking.  And  you  were 


•••<&• 

?rop$e5 


not  thinking  about  yourself  either,  one  could  see 
that,  I  could  see  it  plainly.  After  I  had  stood  and 
watched  you  for  a  while  I  felt  as  if  I  knew  you,  and 
as  soon  as  I  felt  that  I  knew  you,  I  did  not  want 
to  speak  to  one  single  other  person.  It  seemed  as 
if  it  would  be  a  dreadful  waste  of  time  so  I  just 
went  upstairs  again  'and  —  whatever  does  ail  you, 
Kathryn?" 

For  Mrs.  d'Ypres' was  all  but  strangling  apparently. 

"I'm  all  over  it  now,"  she  said  faintly. 

"Where  was  that?"  asked  Mowbray,  referring 
to  what  went  before  the  interruption. 

"It  was  at  a  reception  the  very  afternoon  before 
your  accident.  You  stood  by  a  pillar  with  your  arms 
folded  just  as  you  have  them  now.  It's  impossible 
to  tell  you  how  you  looked.  Oh,  I  've  never  seen  any 
man  look  so,  —  I  was  coming  down  the  staircase 
when  I  first  saw  you  and  I  —  " 

"  Nathalie',"*  called  Mrs.  d'Ypres  in  a  most  im- 
ploring voice,  "  won't  you  come  here  and  see  if  you 
•  can  find  my  skein  of  black  silk?" 

Nathalie  rose  and  moved  towards  her  friend. 

"  It  is  all  just  as  I  am  telling  it,  —  is  n't  it,  Kath- 
ryn; you  saw  him  standing  by  the  pillar  too?  —  and 


A 
\  I 


A 

\l 


/  V 


£'  %fimfcan  Proposes 


[62] 

—  why,  here's  your  black  silk  just  where  it  always 
is!"  She  took  it  up  in  great  surprise. 

"Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  sweetly; 
"remember  not  to  talk  too  abstruse  subjects  to  an 
invalid." 

"She  is  not  tiring  me,"  said  the  captain. 

"No,  indeed  I'm  not,"  said  Nathalie,  returning 
at  once  to  her  seat  by  the  long  chair,  "the  doctor 
allowed  him  an  hour  anyway  and  it  is  n't  half  that 
yet." 

"You  were  saying?"  —  he  reminded  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  was  saying  —  oh,  yes,  I 
do  too.  I  was  talking  about  how  you  looked  that 
first  day.  Do  you  know  it  seemed  to  me  that  you 
looked  another  way  too.  Have  you  always  looked 
that  other  way  too?" 

"What  other  way?" 

"The  way  you  look  sometimes  now  —  times  when 
you  are  not  talking." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  stupid  but  I  don't  quite  grasp  your 
meaning.  Can't  you  go  a  little  more  into  detail?" 

Nathalie  considered,  —  "As  if  life  did  n't  matter 
very  much  to  you  so  far  as  your  own  self  were  con- 
cerned," she  said  at  last. 


A 


0 


I) 

\l 

V 


[63] 


He  laughed  shortly. 

"It  is  fortunate  that  the  privilege  of  looking  ex- 
actly as  we  feel  is  denied  the  most  of  us,  but  I'm 
afraid  that  personally  I  've  betrayed  the  state  of  my 
own  case  only  too  clearly.  You  see,  it's  a  straight 
and  narrow  path,  my  profession,  —  no  accidental 
sidelights  or  chance  of  prizes,  even  if  one  is  willing 
to  work  for  them.  No  especial  glory  as  the  game  is 
going  just  now,  no  particular  hope  for  the  immediate 
future,  very  little  to  count  on  oneself,  —  nothing  to 
offer  another."  He  stopped  there,  and  his  eyes 
went  straight  to  hers  and  then  straight  away  again. 
Then  something  seemed  to  force  him  out  into  the 
open  even  though  the  ground  was  all  new.  "I  sup- 
pose this  is  heresy  that  I'm  talking,  but  you  see  I 
know  it  all  by  heart.  It  is  n't  hearsay  with  me  — 
it's  daily  life.  I  've  stayed  single,  simply  to  be  spared 
the  agony  of  self  reproach,  and  I'm  going  to  stay 
single  —  "he  stopped  short,  perhaps  conscious  of 
being  altogether  too  far  out  upon  the  unmapped 
ground. 

"Go  on,"  said  Nathalie;  her  eyes  fairly  luminous 
with  interest,  "don't  stop  just  there.  I  want  to 
know  why  you're  going  to  stay  single;  it  interests 


j; 
M 

V 


Proposes 


A 


me  ever  so  much —  more  than  you  can  possibly 
think.  Please  go  on." 

"But  it  isn't  interesting,"  said  Mowbray,  "on 
the  contrary  it's  selfish  —  almost  sordid.  And  yet 
it  is  n't  really  for  myself  that  I  care  —  it's  only  that 
I'm  afraid  to  undertake  a  battle  that  strength  and 
courage  won't  count  in.  You  see,  as  a  single  man 
I  'm  fairly  well  off,  my  reasonable  wants  are  provided 
for,  and  my  efficiency  as  an  officer  is  not  impaired 
by  money  considerations.  But  as  a  married  man 
without  any  outside  resources  —  but  of  course  you  're 
not  interested  in  all  this  and  I  don't  blame  you  if 
you  have  n't  listened  to  any  of  it  after  the  first  ten 
words,"  he  stopped  suddenly  again. 

"But  I  am  interested,"  she  cried,  "I've  listened 
and  I've  understood.  Was  that  all  in  the  bill?" 

"It  was  n't  worded  in  just  that  way." 

"  Do  you  know  I  think  that  I  could  understand  a 
great  deal  more  if  you  would  trouble  to  tell  me." 
She  rose  and  went  to  the  bell  as  she  spoke  —  "It's 
time  for  your  egg-nogg,"  she  remarked  parenthet- 
ically as  she  did  so. 

"Nathalie,  do  let  Captain  Mowbray  rest."  It 
was  Mrs.  d'Ypres'  voice. 


f 

Pi 

/  t 


OSE 


oman  roposes 


y 


"Yes,  while  he  has  his  egg-nogg,"  —  answered 
Nathalie;  "he  is  being  quiet  now  and  I  am  going  to 
screw  on  his  table  and  turn  it  just  right  —  that  is 
always  such  fun." 

"I  believe  that  you  regard  me  as  a  mechanical 
toy,"  said  the  officer,  laughing.  "What  will  become 
of  me  when  I  fall  back  into  my  old  Me  at  the 
post?" 

She  was  stooping  at  his  side  to  slip  the  table- 
supports  into  their  rightful  slots. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  a  little  faintly,  —  then, 
as  she  recovered  an  upright  position,  she  added, 
"I  can't  imagine  you  anywhere  except  just  here." 

He  opened  his  lips  impulsively  —  then  closed 
them.  Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  slightly.  No  one 
spoke  for  a  little  and  then  a  servant  entered  with  the 
egg-nogg  daintily  set  out  on  a  tray  of  crystal  rimmed 
in  silver. 

"You  can  eat  alone,  now,  can't  you?"  Nathalie 
said,  as  she  watched  the  arranging  of  the  little  table. 
"  I  used  to  want  to  feed  you  myself,  but  the  nurses 
always  took  everything  away  from  me.  Nurses  are 
so  disagreeable  when  you  want  to  take  care  of 
some  one  yourself." 


xxMCP 


O 


The  captain  took  up:  his  spoon  and  looked  hard  at 
the  monogram  engraved  upon?  its  bowl. 

"You  have  really  been  very  much  interested  in 
my  case,  haven't  you?"  he  said,  and  then  —  as  if 
to  forestall  her  reply,  he*- went  on  hurriedly,  "but 
what  an  absurd  remark  for  me  to  make.  The  fact 
that  I  am  here  and  have  been  here  for  three  months, 
and  that  I  am  alive  to  give  expression  to  my  grati- 
tude and  appreciation  and  —  and  — 

He  stopped,  she  was  watching  him  with  parted 
lips  and  eager  eyes.  Somehow  he  suddenly  was 
conscious  of  a  very  unpleasant  mental  sensation  — 
as  if  some  unknown,  unmeasured  shadow  was  creep- 
ing up  out  of  their  horizon. 

"Aren't  you  going  on?"  she  asked,  —  "or  are 
you  afraid  the  egg-nogg  is  getting  flat?" 

"The  egg-nogg  must  not  be  allowed  to  get  flat," 
he  said,  and  dipped  the  spoon  into  the  glass. 

"It  seems  like  a  dream  to  see  you  sitting  almost 
straight  up  and  able  to  feed  yourself  without  spill- 
ing," she  said,  after  a  minute  or  two. 

"It  has  all  seemed  like  a  dream,"  he  answered, 
"some  of  it  was  a  pretty  bad  dream  too.  But  the 
awakening  was  the  most  dreamlike  of  all,  I  must  n't 


[67] 

qualify  it  as  good  or  bad,  -—  it  is  enough  that  it  will 

remain  a  dream  till  the -end." 

• 

"It's  awfully    nice    of    you  ,.to    feel    so,"  said 

*? 

Nathalie. 

to     f    f'    ^ 

"I've  wondered  sometimes,  since  my  brain  began 
to  work  again,  just  why  you  did  it;  why  should  you 
have  taken  me  under  your  roof?  — why  should  you 
have  given  an  utter  stranger  such  care  and  comfort 
and  consideration.  One  seeks  in  vain  for  a  motive, 
I  —  " 

"Why,  I  did  not  think  anything  about  it,"  cried 
Nathalie.  "  Of  course  they  carried  you  in  here  be- 
cause it  was  the  nearest  house;  and  of  course  when 
I  saw  who  it  was,  I  kept  you." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed. 

The  captain's  eyes  wandered  towards  her  at  her 
place  in  the  window,  —  she  seemed  to  be  interwoven 
with  that  shapeless  shadow  on  the  horizon. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  inspired  you,"  he  said, 
putting  the  spoon  aside  with  a  sudden  air  of  weari- 
ness ;  "  you  saw  what  you  conceived  to  be  a  duty  and 
that  duty  you  performed  to  the  slightest  detail  with 
scrupulous  and  conscientious  exactitude." 

"I  never  thought  anything  about  a  duty,"  as- 


go< ^ 

»{y          •••....*»•• 


0 

n 


(CI>£>~"- 


<§c  :s 


n^bman  ?rop$es 


68] 

serted  ^Nathalie,  "if  it  had  been  any  other  man  I 
should  have  telephoned  for  the  ambulance,  directly." 

He  felt  a  species  of  smile  wrung  from  him. 

"Nathalie,"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  "ring  for  the 
captain's  tray  to  be  taken." 

"Yes,  Kathryn,"  she  obeyed  as  she  spoke. 
"The  idea  of  your  troubling  so  much  over  it  all," 
she  said  as  she  resumed  her  seat,  "  it  is  n't  worth 
your  bothering.  Truly  and  honestly  I  never  have 
been  the  tenth  part  so  happy  in  all  my  life  —  " 

The  servant  coming  in  for  the  tray  interrupted 
her  speech.  Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  some  more  too. 

"I  shall  remember  it  all  after  I  get  back  to  my 
post,"  the  captain  said  quietly;  "there  will  be 
days  and  days  and  nights  and  nights  for  all  that." 

She  looked  at  him  and  a  little  line  of  pain  formed 
between  her  eyebrows. 

y"Do  I  sound  too  grave  and  serious?"   he  asked 
smiling.  o 

"  No,  —  I  like  it.  It  is  so  new  to  me  —  you  know. 
I  have  never  been  used  to  being  serious  myself. 
But  just  at  first  perhaps  it  is  a  little  hard  to  live 
up  to  — and  besides-  "  she  hesitated;  then,  in  a 
burst  of  confidence,  —  "  I  know  you  must  go  there 


/  \ 


[69] 

but  I  don't  one  bit  enjoy  hearing  you  talk  about 
being  back  at  your  post  and  your  duty." 

Mowbray  was  silent.  Turning  his  sense  of  vision 
within,  he  asked  himself  what  was  that  rising  gloom 
upon  their  sunlit  friendship,  and  left  her  to  develop 
the  next  conversational  phase  alone. 

"But  won't  you  please  go  on?  I  want  to  learn  to 
understand  when  you  say  grave  and  serious  things. 
Even  if  I  appear  foolish,  I  can  learn.  I  am  going  to 
learn  too.  I  read  once  that  nothing  developed 
any  one  like  a  fixed  purpose,  and  I  have  a  fixed 
purpose." 

"Have  you  really  a  fixed  purpose?  It  is  so  easy 
to  have  a  purpose  but  so  hard  to  fix  it  sometimes." 

"Mine  is  as  fixed  as  fate,"  she  declared,  "it  is 
going  to  succeed  too.  When  I  make  up  my  mind 
about  anything  it  always  succeeds." 

"  I  wish  that  I  might  be  with  you  long  enough  to 
arrange  a  few  matters  of  public  and  private  inter- 
est, then." 

"  What  do  you  want  arranged?  " 

He  could  not  but  smile  afresh  at  her  air  of  com- 
plete competence. 

"My  army  bill,"  he  said  promptly. 


man  Proposes.  | 


"That  is  public;  what  do  you  want  arranged 
privately?"  she  leaned  forward. 

He  shifted  his  position. 

"It  will  seem  heartless  and  ungrateful  to  say  it," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone,  —  "you  have  been  so  kind  — 
so  all  that  is  angelic;  but  I  want  to  get  away;  I 
want  my  strength  again;  I  want  to  return  to  my 
work.  I  have  failed  here,  you  know,  —  well,  I 
want  to  get  back  where  I  am  needed  and  where  I 
won't  fail  because  success  only  depends  on  my  own 
doing  of  my  own  duty.  And  —  oh,  well,  I  can't 
explain,  —  but  I  must  get  away." 

Then  he  saw  the  shadow  that  was  haunting  him 
and  putting  a  bitter  tinge  upon  his  restlessness  begin 
to  creep  over  her  face,  too. 

"I  always  forget  that  you  have  work  to  do  any- 
where," she  said  a  little  sadly,  —  "I  suppose  it  is 
very  upsetting  somewhere  for  you  to  be  ill;  who 
walks  up  and  down  in  your  place  while  you  are  here? '' 

"The  next  in  command  does  my  walking  until  I 
report  for  duty  again." 

"I  know  so  little  about  the  army,"  she  meditated, 
"if  you  had  died  what  would  have  happened? 
Would  they  all  have  moved  up  one?" 


A 


y 


"Yes,  all  below  me  would  have  been  advanced." 

"Does  n't  that  seem  very  heartless?" 

"Not  as  heartless  as  it  would  seem  if  they  all 
went  down  a  peg." 

"No,  I  suppose  not;"  she  paused  and  looked 
thoughtful.  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something," 
she  said  then. 

"Anything  you  like." 

"You  said  that  you  had  never  married  because 
you  could  n't  afford  it;  —  shall  you  ever  be  able  to 
afford  it,  do  you  think?" 

"Nathalie,  it  is  getting  time  to  leave  Captain 
Mowbray  to  rest,"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres  suddenly. 

"Not  for  ten  minutes  yet,"  answered  her  young 
friend. 

The  captain  compressed  his  lips.  "A  year  ago  I 
should  have  answered  that  I  thought  not,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"What  do  you  think  now?" 

"I  think  I'm  too  old." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  loudly. 

"Why  don't  you  sit  further  back  from  that  window, 
Kathryn?"  Nathalie  asked,  irritably,  —  then  she 


A 


Proposes  > 


72 


looked  expectantly  at  the  officer.  "You  don't  mind 
telling  your  age  —  do  you?"  she  questioned  in 
after  thought. 

"Not  at  all;  I'm  too  old  to  mind.    I'm  forty-one." 

"I  don't  think  that  that  is  too  old  to  marry." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  coughed  again. 

"Thank  you,  but  I  do,"  said  Mowbray;  "and  I'm 
too  poor  in  any  case,"  he  added. 

"How  poor  are  you?" 

"Nathalie,"  cried  Mrs.  d'Ypres  desperately, 
"  can  you  see  the  clock?  " 

"Oh,  it  is  n't  the  time  yet." 

"I  have  three  thousand  a  year,"  said  the  inter- 
rogated. 

His  hearer  quite  jumped  in  her  chair. 

"Three  thousand  for  the  whole  year!"  she 
cried. 

He  was  obliged  to  smile  audibly. 

"That's  what  I  said." 

"But  you're  over  forty." 

"Yes,  unfortunately." 

"Did  n't  you  ever  have  any  more?" 

"No;  only  less." 

Her  face  was  full  of  sympathetic  distress. 


&.- 


\£ 

["'•• 


[73] 

"Then  if  you  married  your  wife  would  have  but 
three  thousand  to  live  on?" 

His  smile  broadened.  "  She  would  n't  have  even 
that;  I  should  always  require  some  small  portion  of 
it  for  myself." 

She  sat  as  if  in  a  dream  for  a  long  half -minute. 

"No,  you  could  never,  never  marry,"  she  said  at 
last  with  a  positiveness  that  was  final.  "Goodness 
me,  why  if  that's  all  that  the  captains  get,  what  do 
the  lieutenants  live  on?  I  know  girls  who  have 
married  lieutenants." 

"Yes,  I  do  too,"  replied  the  officer;  "I  have  even 
lived  at  the  same  posts  with  some.  And,  looking  on 
at  the  results,  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  how  it 
was  all  to  come  out.  Of  course  two  people,  each  with 
a  complete  new  outfit  of  clothes,  can  get  along  very 
cheaply  for  a  year  or  two,  but  if  there  is  a  baby  — 
and  there  generally  is  a  baby  —  and  they  hope  ever 
to  educate  it  —  and  most  people  look  forward  to 
educating  their  children,  you  know,  —  then  it 
follows  that  the  pinching  has  got  to  begin  right  from 
the  very  start." 

"Even  then  I  don't  see  how  they  manage,"  said 
Nathalie,  "their  relatives  must  have  to  help  them." 


./ 


tA>J 

6tp 

ft 


L/AJ 

m 
A 

y 


"That's  no  very  pleasant  outlook  for  a  self- 
respecting  man." 

Nathalie  paid  no  attention  to  his  remark. 

"I  think  that  something  ought  to  be  done,"  she 
announced  slowly  and  with  great  decision. 

"Of  course  something  ought  to  be  done,"  said 
Mowbray.  "  Don't  I  lie  here  helpless  as  an  evidence 
of  how  much  I  personally  desire  to  see  something 
done?  I  should  never  be  here  if  I  had  not  come  on 
about  that  bill;  that  was  my  testimony  to  my  own 
conviction  that  something  not  only  ought  to  —  but 
must  —  be  done.  Merely  refusing  to  drag  any 
more  human  beings  into  the  swamp  of  straitened 
circumstances  is  only  a  negative  manner  of  helping 
out  the  bad  situation.  The  real  help  must  come 
from  the  government." 

"I  should  think  that  there  would  have  been  a  lot 
of  dissatisfaction  when  the  bill  was  put  aside,"  said 
Nathalie. 

"There  probably  was,"  said  the  officer,  dryly; 
"but  any  governmental  action  catches  the  army 
squarely  in  a  vice  between  its  patriotism  and  its 
duty.  However,  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  there 
was  dissatisfaction,  I  can  certify  to  that  even  if 


?&  .-.  .• -•.„•* 

1°< S~ 


[75] 

I  have  n't  been  able  to  see  any  of  the  papers 
lately." 

"There  was  plenty  of  trouble  when  the  labor  bill 
didn't  pass,  anyway,"  said  Nathalie,  "there  were 
columns  and  columns  about  it.  Mr.  Lefevre  came 
here  three  times.  I  saw  his  picture  in  the  Telegram. 
He  did  n't  look  at  all  like  his  caricatures;  he  looked 
ever  so  pleasant;  I  liked  his  face  tremendously." 

"Not  many  people  look  like  their  caricatures," 
said  Mowbray,  sententiously. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"I  wonder  how  it  will  all  come  out!"  Nathalie 
said  finally. 

"I  wonder  too,"  said  the  captain. 

She  leaned  her  elbow  forward  on  her  crossed  knee, 
supported  her  chin  amid  her  outspread  fingers,  and 
stared  steadily  at  the  floor.  "I  wonder,"  she  said, 
after  a  while,  "who  will  be  the  one  to  help  most. 
Ever  so  many  will  help,  you  know,  but  some  one 
person  will  come  forward  and  help  most.  When  big 
things  happen  it  is  always  some  one  person  who 
does  the  most." 

The  officer  said  nothing. 

"You  tried  to  help,  did  n't  you?"  she  questioned. 

i .->  s- --•..,•.. 

"*•»."•.  XVJ 


0 


K 


"In  my  humble  way,  yes." 

"And  you  failed?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Mr.  Lefevre  tried?" 

"Yes,  he  tried  too." 

"And  failed  too?" 

"Don't  you  think  that  it  is  strange  when  every 
one  knows  what  should  be  done  and  that  it  is  right 
to  do  it,  —  that  government  will  not  do  it?  " 

"All  thinking  people  think  that  that  is  strange," 
said  Mowbray;  "but  you  see  government  is  too 
strong  to  be  compelled  to  listen  to  reason." 

"  But  if  the  trouble  keeps  on  and  the  strikes  spread 
and  spread?" 

"Even  then  government  will  be  strongest  because 
it  will  have  the  law  at  its  back  and  behind  the  law 
stands  the  armed  force  of  the  country." 

"  You  mean  the  army?  " 

"Yes." 

Nathalie  was  silent. 

After  a  while  she  lifted  her  head. 

"I  never  have  told  you  anything  about  myself, 
have  I?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Very  little." 


/  \ 


[77] 

"You  know  that  I  married." 

"Yes." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  all  about  it?  — it's  quite  in- 
teresting." 

"  I  shall  be  charmed." 

"  It  is  n't  very  long,  —  neither  the  story  nor  the 
marriage  either.  I  was  a  widow  before  nine  o'clock 
on  the  evening  of  the  day  that  I  was  married.  But 
no  one  woke  me  up  to  tell  me  so  until  next  morning. 
I  was  at  school,  you  see,  and  I  had  gone  to  my 
room  when  the  telegram  came,  so  they  let  me  sleep 
until  the  regular  dressing  bell  in  the  morning.  The 
principal  did  n't  believe  in  having  the  girls  disturbed 
unnecessarily." 

"A  very  sensible  rule,"  said  Mowbray,  shifting 
his  position  so  that  he  could  watch  her  more 
easily. 

"He  was  a  very  rich  old  gentleman  —  he  was  my 
grandfather's  most  particular  friend.  They  had 
always  been  in  business  together;  they  owned  blocks 
and  lots  and  stocks  together  —  they  were  partners." 

"I  understand." 

"He  was  very  fond  of  my  grandfather  —  ever  so 
much  fonder  than  he  was  of  his  own  relatives; 


•I  \ 

\  • 

\> 


'   .[78] 

he  had  ever  so  many  relatives  and  he  did  n't  like 
them  at  all." 
*  "I  quite  understand." 

"But  he  always  liked  me." 

"I  quite  understand." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  cleared  her  throat. 

"He  began  to  have  apoplexy  when  he  grew  very 
old  and  he  had  two  strokes  —  you  know,  one  can't 
have  but  three." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"  And  he  had  gout  and  was  shut  up  upstairs  in  his 
house  for  months,  and  nobody  really  expected  that 
he  would  ever  come  downstairs  again,  so  I  don't 
very  much  blame  his  relatives  myself." 

"What  did  they  do?" 

"They  began  to  take  what  they  wanted  from 
downstairs,  —  sets  of  Dickens  with  Cruikshank's 
illustrations,  and  Moorish  bronzes,  and  things  like 
that." 

Mowbray  nodded  understandmgly. 

"They  thought  that  he  would  never  know  because 
he  would  never  be  coming  downstairs  again,  but 
towards  spring  he  grew  better  and  he  came  down- 
stairs!"—  she  paused  expressively. 


"What  happened?" 

"He  was  so  angry  that  he  nearly  had  the  third 
stroke.  He  took  his  brougham  and  came  to  see 
grandfather  at  once  and  he  told  him  that  he  should 
make  it  the  sole  purpose  of  his  life  from  then  on  to 
get  even  with  his  relatives.  They  sent  for  the 
lawyer  that  very  afternoon  and  the  lawyer  said 
that  there  were  two  ways  out  of  it,  —  he  could 
marry  or  deed  away  all  his  property.  They  talked 
it  all  over  and  then  he  decided  that  he  would  make 
everything  absolutely  safe  by  doing  both.  Then  he 
asked  if  he  could  marry  me,  —  I  was  away  at 
boarding-school.  You  see  he  thought  of  me  right 
off  because  I  was  so  convenient  on  account  of  being 
grandfather's  heiress  and  their  owning  everything 
together.  Grandfather  did  n't  mind  his  marrying 
me,  only  he  said  that  I  must  not  be  taken  out  of 
boarding-school  until  I  was  eighteen.  So  it  was  all 
arranged  and  they  came  together  and  saw  me  and 
then  all  the  property  was  deeded  to  grandfather  to 
hold  in  trust,  and  after  that  I  was  married  at  their 
hotel  and  they  returned  directly  to  the  city  that 
very  afternoon.  I  went  back  to  the  school  with  the 
history  teacher  who  had  come  in  with  me,  and  we 


A 


/ . 


d 


j<  Wlua  Woman  Proposes 


[80] 

had  to  tell  the  Principal  of  course.  She  did  n't  like 
it  at  all  and  she  blamed  grandfather  terribly.  I 
had  to  go  to  my  room  early  to  make  up  for  the 
time  that  I  had  lost  while  I  was  being  married,  and 
when  the  telegram  came  about  the  third  fit  of 
apoplexy  (it  was  too  hot  going  back  on  the  train 
and  that  gave  it  to  him)  —  she  never  sent 
me  any  word.  But  next  day  every  one  knew, 
and  in  the  end  I  had  to  leave  school  —  it 
seems  they  won't  have  a  married  woman  in  a 
boarding-school  no  matter  how  soon  her  husband 
dies." 

"What  became  of  you  then?"  asked  Mowbray 
with  unaffected  curiosity. 

"Grandfather  sent  me  abroad  and  I  came  back 
perfectly  sensible." 

"A  wonderful  story!" 

"What  —  that  I  came  back  sensible?" 

He  laughed.    "No;  the  whole  of  it  together." 

"It  is  funny  — is  n't  it?" 

*  The  most  curious  thing  about  it  is  that  you 
failed  to  marry  some  prince  or  duke  while  abroad." 

"  I  never  wanted  to  marry  any  one  —  never  then, 
anyhow." 


"-*:&&  ••.;;"-^g>-"^-r;^rj 
„  ..j&§. .  ..'.:v»-C.v.-.:"._..VXd 


[81] 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  rose.  "Nathalie,"  she  said,  im- 
peratively, "the  hour  is  up." 

"No,  —  not  for  two  minutes;"  the  younger 
woman  turned  her  eyes  to  the  officer's  again,  "my 
grandfather  is  dead  too,  now,"  she  said,  —  "and  do 
you  know  what  I  think  that  I  should  like  to  do?" 

"No,  — what?" 

"I  should  like  to  take  some  of  all  those  millions 
and  help  do  a  great  good  with  it  —  something  like 
passing  your  bill  and  making  life  easier  for  all  those 
men  and  their  wives  and  their  children." 

He  was  deeply  touched  by  her  sweetness. 

"Heaven  bless  you  for  the  wish,"  he  said,  heartily, 
"but  I  fear  that  my  bill  is  not  the  kind  that  can  be 
put  through  in  that  way.  I  must  n't  comment  on 
your  views  as  to  political  ways  and  means  of  passing 
bills,  because  I  shall  have  to  set  against  them  the 
other  back-door  bit  of  wisdom  which  forces  me  to 
point  out  to  you  that  my  bill  was  foreordained  to 
its  fate  by  the  fact  that  it  was  drawn  up  to  benefit 
those  who  have  neither  votes  nor  money,  and  are  the 
kind  that  may  be  counted  on  to  bear  with  grit 
whatever  comes  to  them  —  even  when  they  know 
that  it  is  unfair  and  unjust." 


VI 
\ 


JO? 


K 


0 

o 

y 


She  listened  with  deep  attention. 

"I  had  no  idea  that  things  were  so  bad,"  she  said; 
"I  have  been  reading  all  about  the  labor  trouble, 
but  I  never  realized  that  the  government  did  n't 
pay  people  properly.  I  thought  that  it  was  only 
shirt-men  and  coal-men  who  did  such  things." 

Mowbray  began  to  laugh.  "  Oh,  the  army  is  n't 
based  on  the  sweat-system,"  he  said.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  paint  things  as  black  as  that.  It  really 
is  n't  bad  at  all  if  one  does  not  wish  to  marry." 

"But  so  many  people  always  do  wish  to  marry;  — 
you  know  how  they  arrange  it  in  Germany,  —  the 
officers  are  not  allowed  to  marry  there  unless  the 
girl  has  money  enough  for  an  income?" 

Mowbray  laughed  again.  "I  should  be  not  the 
less  a  bachelor  then,"  he  declared. 

"Wouldn't  you  marry  a  woman  with  a  fortune 
if  she  loved  you?  "  She  lifted  up  her  head  and  looked 
straight  at  him  as  she  put  the  question. 

"The  hour  is  striking,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  d'Ypres. 

"I  would  not  consider  the  idea  for  one  minute," 
he  replied  firmly. 

As  the  words  left  his  lips  he  felt  himself  stabbed 
in  a  curious  sickening  way  by  the  sight  of  a  sort  of 


0 


K2> 


helpless  pain  in  her  eyes.  But  it  was  gone  almost 
at  once,  and  she  stood  up  and  smiled  brightly. 

"I  am  going  to  do  something,  somehow,"  she 
announced.  "I  feel  inside  myself  that  you  must 
have  your  salary  raised.  It  is  n't  right  for  any 
man  to  feel  the  way  that  you  feel  about  marriage." 

Then  she  went  out. 


o 

/  \ 

I  / 


iwM  woman  Tropcwes 


[84] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  BIRD  FLUTTERS  ABOUT  A  BIT 

"  TT' ATHRYN,"  said  Nathalie  to  her  friend,  one 
X  V  afternoon  a  fortnight  later,  "I  wish  that 
you  would  sit  somewhere  else  this  evening.  Some- 
where a  little  further  off  than  it  is  possible  for  you 
to  be  if  you  are  in  the  same  room." 

"Do  you  think  that  that  is  wise?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres 
asked  gently. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  wise,  but  I  wish  that  you 
would  do  it  just  the  same." 

"  I  will  do  it  if  you  ask  me,  of  course." 
"  I  am  getting  so  used  to  being  conventional  now 
that  I  stay  conventional  without  any  thinking,  — 
and  then  too  it  would  be  so  nice  to  talk  with  him 
alone  just  once  before  he  goes.  I  am  continually 
starting  to  say  things  and  then  being  obliged  to 
stop  because  I  remember  that  you  are  there." 

t/'Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  sincere  sympathy 
flooding  her  tone. 


/  \ 


"And  that  makes  me  wonder  if  you  don't  affect 
him  in  the  same  way  perhaps." 

"That  would  be  sad,"  the  friend  admitted. 

"There  are  so  many  important  things  which  I 
want  to  tell  him  and  which  I  want  him  to  tell  me," 
Nathalie  continued,  frowning  in  a  most  business- 
like manner,  "and  it  would  be  awfully  nice  if  we 
could  be  alone  while  we  were  doing  it." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  "I  will 
leave  you  alone  to-night.  After  all,  whatever  hap- 
pens is  your  own  affair." 

"Nothing  is  going  to  happen  to-night,"  said  Natha- 
lie, "things  will  happen  later." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  had  so  little  doubt  on  that  score 
that  she  did  not  trouble  to  make  any  reply,  content- 
ing herself  with  watching  her  friend's  restlessness 
move  here  and  there. 

"  Kathryn,  should  n't  you  think  that  all  these 
days  and  days  would  have  made  him  feel  more 
informal?" 

The  question  came  suddenly  as  the  speaker  finally 
paused  at  the  window,  with  her  back  to  the  room. 

"Does  he  seem  formal  to  you?" 

"Yes,  he  seems  very  formal." 


[86] 

"  Perhaps  he  is  that  kind  of  a  man." 

"No,  it  isn't  that.  It  is  as  if  he  were  always 
trying  to  do  right  even  when  he  does  n't  want  to." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  felt  some  apprehension  over  the 
keenness  of  intuition  displayed  in  this  speech. 

"Surely  you  would  not  wish  him  otherwise  in 
that  respect,  Nathalie." 

"I  don't  know,  I  can't  quite  puzzle  it  out.  Just 
as  I  think  that  we  are  going  to  be  very  happy  some- 
thing seems  to  come  into  his  head  that  makes  him 
act  strangely.  It  seems  as  if  it  is  perhaps  going  to 
take  a  long  time  to  make  it  all  come  out  right;" 
she  laid  her  cheek  against  the  heavy  curtain  fold 
and  waited  a  little;  then  —  "Kathryn!" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"You  know  how  he  keeps  saying  that  he  is  too 
old  to  marry." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Do  you  think  he  says  it  to  keep  me  remembering 
it,  or  to  keep  himself  remembering  it?  " 

Again  Mrs.  d'Ypres  felt  startled,  this  time  beyond 
all  possibility  of  making  an  answer. 

Nathalie  waited  a  little  and  then  continued. 

"I  don't  know  very  much  about  men,  I  know, 


A 


but  even  if  he  does  seem  to  be  such  a  very  formal 
kind  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  will  like  you  to 
stay  away  once  just  as  much  as  I  shall.  Quite 
sure." 

As  to  that  also  the  friend  had  not  the  slightest 
doubt.  "I  shall  not  forget  about  leaving  you,  dear," 
she  said.  The  other  turned  from  the  window. 

"Thank  you,  Kathryn;  I  am  perfectly  certain 
that  it  is  all  going  to  come  out  right,  only  you  see 
if  one  wants  to  marry  a  man  who  keeps  asserting 
positively  that  he  will  never  marry,  one  must  have 
some  chance  at  him  when  he  can  take  back  things 
without  hurting  his  feelings." 

"Oh,  of  course  I  understand  that,"  said  Mrs. 
d'Ypres.  She  was  beginning  to  see  that  her  young 
friend's  announcement  as  to  the  spiritual  changes 
which  had  taken  place  within  herself  was  being 
rapidly  verified.  Each  day  lately  had  been  filled 
with  food  for  fresh  wonder  and  consideration.  And 
the  ratio  of  the  increase  was  becoming  more  and 
more  rapid. 

A  little  while  later  they  went  down  to  dinner  and 
when  dinner  was  over  Nathalie  led  the  way  into  the 
library.  The  captain  followed  where  she  led,  but 


0 


/I 

0 


n  Proposes  /&$&& 

9  >CCL/ 


the  chaperon  —  true  to  her  promise  —  fell  by  the 
wayside. 

The  library  was  a  good-sized,  dark-red  and  brown 
room,  leather  upholstered,  oak-panelled,  and  in  all 
respects  quite  the  usual  thing.  The  day  had  been 
rainy  and  so  a  fire  blazed  on  the  open  hearth;  above 
the  mantel  shelf  burned  two  waxen  altar-candles; 
there  was  no  other  light  in  the  room. 

"Sit  down  there,"  said  the  hostess,  pointing  to  an 
easy  chair  that  faced  both  firelight  and  candle-flame. 
"  I  want  you  to  sit  where  I  can  see  you  well,  so  that 
I  can  remember  just  how  you  looked,  after  you  are 
gone." 

"A  man  who  is  off  duty,  because  of  being  upon 
the  sick-list,  cannot  be  called  upon  to  attend  inspec- 
tion," said  the  captain,  laughing.  He  began  to 
push  the  chair  back  into  the  shadow  as  he  spoke, 
and  looked  around  for  Mrs.  d'Ypres.  His  face 
altered  when  he  saw  that  she  had  not  accompanied 
them,  and  Nathalie,  pouring  coffee  at  a  tiny  table 
one  side,  looked  up  just  in  time  to  observe  the 
change. 

"You're  looking  for  Kathryn,  I  know,"  she  said, 
ignoring  his  act  of  overt  rebellion  as  to  the  chair 


[89] 

and  the  firelight,  " — she  isn't  coming,  —  we're 
going  to  be  alone  this  evening." 

The  captain  received  this  piece  of  news  and  his 
coffee-cup  in  silence. 

"I'm  tired  of  having  Kathryn  hear  everything 
we  say,"  Nathalie  continued;  "of  course  I  love  her 
dearly  and  that  made  her  perfectly  willing  to  sit 
somewhere  else  when  I  asked  her." 

Mowbray  felt  his  lips  tighten. 

"  Please  don't  look  that  way  —  "  her  tone  was 
earnestly  appealing;  "that's  why  I  didn't  want 
Kathryn  —  I  thought  it  was  she  that  kept  you  look- 
ing that  way." 

"What  way?"  said  the  officer. 

"As  if  you  were  obliged  to  do  something  you 
did  n't  like  or  else  obliged  not  to  do  something  that 
you  'd  like  to  do,  I  don't  know  which.  You  've  looked 
that  way  so  much  lately,  and  I  don't  like  it  at  all. 
Can't  you  drop  it  for  just  to-night?  " 

He  laughed.    Life  was  really  a  battle  these  days. 

"I'll  try,"  he  promised. 

"Thank  you;  —  and  now  let's  talk,"  said 
Nathalie. 

"All  right.    About  what?" 


\ 

in 

5y 
/  j 


X 


Q 


0  ^hen^oman  Proposes 


>c*MCP 


[90] 

"About  anything,  —  except  the  army." 

"Ah,  I've  bored  you  with  the  army,  I  see." 

"No,"  she  shook  her  head,  "you  haven't  bored 
me  but  I  have  it  all  by  heart,  so  what's  the  use." 

"Well,  what  shall  we  talk  of  then?  Present  com- 
pany is  always  barred,  you  know." 

Nathalie  opened  her  eyes.  "What,  when  there  are 
only  two?"  she  asked,  surprised. 

He  laughed.  "Let's  talk  of  the  strikes,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

Her  face  fell.  "Oh,  the  strikes,  —  they're  such 
an  old  story.  No  one  talks  of  anything  else." 

Mowbray  took  out  his  cigar-case  and  raised  his 
eyebrows  in  mute  interrogation.  She  nodded  assent. 
He  rose  and  went  to  the  fire  while  he  lit  his  cigar; 
when  he  turned  back  she  was  smiling. 

"What  amuses  you?"  he  inquired. 

"I  just  happened  to  think  that  if  a  general  rail- 
way strike  was  declared  you  might  be  obliged  to 
remain  here  indefinitely." 

"That  sounds  very  attractive  but  unfortunately 
it  cannot  be.  One  can  always  take  a  mail-train." 

"Do  they  run  anyway?" 

"Always." 


n 

X 


O 


"What  would  happen  if  they  were  stopped?" 

"That  would  be  rebellion  against  the  government." 

"What  would  the  government  do?" 

"Call  out  the  militia,  and,  if  necessary,  the 
regulars." 

Nathalie  looked  preternaturally  wise,  "I  under- 
stand," she  said.  Then  she  smiled,  "Even  talking 
about  the  militia  is  more  interesting  without  Kathryn, 
don't  you  think? "  she  added.  "Please  go  on." 

Mowbray  took  his  coffee-cup  and  her  coffee-cup 
and  set  them  both  carefully  down  upon  the  little 
lacquered  stand.  His  tone  became  highly  formal. 

"Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Arundel,  I  cannot  help 
wondering  what  is  to  be  the  final  result  of  this  present 
combination  of  unions.  To-day  Lefevre  has  practi- 
cally the  supreme  control  of  those  millions  of  men 
who  fill  the  ranks  of  all  useful  labor." 

"He's  a  wonderful  man,"  said  Nathalie.  "Did  I 
tell  you  that  I  cut  that  picture  of  him  out  of  the 
paper  and  pinned  it  up  in  my  room?  I  thought  that 
looking  at  him  might  help  me.  He  looks  as  if  when 
he  meant  to  do  anything  he  did  it,  no  matter  how 
hard  it  was  —  I  like  that  kind  of  man." 

"What  of  the  kind  who  when  they  decide  not  to 


/   \ 


do  a  fhing  refrain  from  doing  it,  no  matter  how  hard 
the  resisting  proves  to  be?  "  asked  Mowbray. 

Nathalie  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"I  like  that  kind  better  yet,"  she  said,  "particu- 
larly when  they  give  up  and  do  my  way  in  the  end." 

He  went  and  shook  his  cigar's  ash  into  the  fire. 

"Fancy  being  the  head  of  all  the  working-men  in 
the  country,"  she  went  on  after  a  little.  "Mr. 
Lefevre  is  really  more  powerful  than  the  head  of 
the  government  to-day  —  isn't  he?" 

"Hardly  that;  he  has  his  limits." 

"Well,  hasn't  the  head  of  the  government  his 
limits  too?  To-night's  paper  is  almost  nothing  but 
his  limits." 

"I'm  afraid  it  would  be  treason  for  me  to  admit 
that,  but  things  are  in  a  bad  way,"  said  the  captain 
slowly.  "I  wish  that  the  outlook  was  somewhat 
brighter  than  it  is  on  this,  my  last  evening  with 
you." 

"Yes,  it  is  the  last  evening  —  is  n't  it?  —  I  can't 
realize  it  —  it  does  n't  seem  as  if  you  were  really 
going  away  to-morrow  —  does  it?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  And  here  we  sit  talking  about  strikes  and  limits 


When  Woman  Troposes 


[93] 

as  if  there  were  nothing  else  to  talk  of.  I  Ve  thought 
so  much  about  the  strikes  lately  that  I'm  really 
very  tired  of  them,  and  as  to  limits  —  if  I  was  a 
man  I  would  n't  recognize  any  limits.  I  never  do 
myself,  I  know." 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"  I  make  things  come  out  to  suit  me." 

"Always?" 

"Always." 

Mowbray  rose  to  shake  off  the  cigar-ash  again. 

"Do  you  never  find  yourself  thwarted?" 

"Never  yet." 

"Enviable  woman." 

"But  of  course  I  am  very  persevering  and  then, 
too,  I  never  mind  what  things  cost." 

"You  are  again  fortunate." 

"Yes,  I  am  fortunate."  She  paused  and  looked 
earnestly  at  him;  "Do  you  really  feel  obliged  to  go 
to-morrow?"  she  asked. 

"Obliged!"  he  raised  his  eyes  and  glanced  quickly 
towards  her;  then  he  stopped  for  a  second,  "I 
must  go,"  he  declared  with  emphasis,  —  "I  must 
go  for  many  reasons.  The  main  ones,  as  far  as  the 
world  is  concerned,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do." 


A 


"I  want  to  ask  you  something,  —  may  I?" 
"Certainly  —  what  is  it? " 

"You  feel  very  much  indebted  to  me  —  don't 
you?" 

"  It  is  hopeless  for  me  to  try  to  express  myself  on 

that  point;"  he  looked  straight  at  the  fire  as  he  said 
,  _ 

the  words. 

"You  would  n't  be  vexed  with  me  for  any  reason, 
would  you?" 

"Why  should  I  ever  be  vexed  with  you?" 

"Suppose  I  did  something  that  was  foolish!" 

He  merely  smiled. 

"But  suppose  that  you  thought  it  not  merely 
foolish  but  —  wrong?" 

"That  is  rather  unlikely  —  is  n't  it?" 

"But—  "  she  hesitated  and  looked  at  him  very 
earnestly;  "oh,  I  want  so  to  tell  you  everything," 
she  suddenly  cried  with  quick  drawn  breath,  "and 
I  must  tell  you  nothing.  It  is  all  so  serious  and  I 
must  do  it  all  alone!" 

He  turned  towards  her  in  wonder. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly  within  one  another. 
"  I  must  not  say  —  I  must  not  tell  any  one.  When 


n^oman 'Proposes : 


[95] 

I  first  saw  you  I  wanted  to  grow  different;  I've  been 
changing  ever  since,  —  I  think  now  I  'm  almost  all 
changed.  I  —  I  —  I  Ve  thought  it  all  out,  and  I  'in 
going  to  do  it  —  only  it  makes  me  rather  nervous, 
—  just  this  last  night.  Please  say  again  that  no 
matter  what  I  do,  you  will  not  be  angry  with 
me." 

Mowbray  tried  to  speak  lightly,  "I  don't  imagine 
that  you  will  ever  do  anything  too  terrible  for  me  to 
overlook,"  he  said;  " — except  perhaps  to  grow 
very  different,"  he  added,  smiling. 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  gratitude  —  and  then  her 
eyes  filled  with  quick-springing  tears. 

It  was  an  awkward  moment,  one  that  took  strength 
to  live  through  in  silence. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said  finally,  "you'll  write 
me  a  word  occasionally  —  won't  you?  I'll  send  you 
my  address  with  my  first  letter  of  thanks." 

"Yes,  I  will  write;"  she  rose  and  walked  to  the 
window  behind  him  just  long  enough  to  dispose  of 
the  moisture  in  her  eyes. 

There  followed  another  pause  and  then  she  spoke. 
"It's  so  strange,  I  sent  Kathryn  away  just  so  that  I 
could  say  anything  that  I  pleased  this  evening  and 


A 

I 


A 


i) 


96 


!/ 


now,  instead  of  wanting  to  say  things,  I  keep  think- 
ing more  and  more  about  to-morrow." 

Hejbit  his  lip.    It  is  hard  to  be  the  man  and  burn-/*  .       $f\ 
ing  to  say  tlje  things  and  then  to  be  gagged  by  an     •        p^j 

»  '  «   >  *•     *       i 

immutable  code  of  personal  honor. 

*•  -.-•     .  *-|f    .  *     '  J     v         *»  '     '    •'  ,'     -  .  ^  *,».*   *  %  *&'  *    '  I 

But  her  next  renjark  relieved  the  stress  by  giving 

/  *  *  *  '  *  i  •  ^  *$••**  *  *_**  J 

a  most  unexpected  turn  to  the  conversation, >,V 

'        i        '-"^  '     *      ..'  '• 

"I  really  am  so  busy  thinking  of  to-morrow  that 
I  almost  forget  that  you  are  here." 

He  felt  completely  taken  aback.  "That  is  flatter- 
ing; I  'm  glad  that  I  do  not  interrupt  your  thoughts." 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"When  you  go  away  to-morrow  I  am  going  away 

too,"  she  said. 

•<••  "     f " 

He  was  conscious  of  another  mental  start. 

"  Am  I  fortunate  enough  to  be  taking  your  way?  " 
he  asked. 

"No;  you  go  west,  and- 1  go  north."  ^She  thought 
a  minute  and  then  she  said,  ."If  you  knew  where  I 
am  going  to-morrow  1" 

He  laughed.    "Is  it  pleasure  or  business? V 

"Don't  laugh.    It  is  business.    It  is  terribly  sen-,  $. 
ous  business." 

"I  shall  be  interested  to  know  the  results,"  he 
added. 


\  ''* 


vt,  ^1 
! 


oman  Proposes 


[97] 

"Oh,  I'm  throwing  for  such  big  stakes,"  she  said, 
so  low  that  he  could  barely  catch  the  words,  "  they 
almost  frighten  me  with  their  bigness.  But  I'm 
not  afraid  —  "  she  lifted  her  head  proudly,  "I'm 
not  afraid,  and  when  it  all  conies  out  successfully, 
then  —  "  a  curious  sort  of  wistfulness  overspread 
her  face  and  tone  as  she  stopped. 

"Then  what—?" 

"  Oh  then,  perhaps,  so  much ! "  She  looked  at  him 
and  he  fancied  that  her  lip  trembled.  The  misery 
of  his  position  was  almost  unbearable. 

"What  are  you  going  in  for?"  he  asked,  his  for- 
mal words  in  polaric  contrast  to  the  strong  pull  at 
his  self  control. 

"  I  am  only  going  to  tell  one  man  that,"  she  said, 
"I  have  no  right  to  tell  any  other." 

A  shock  ran  over  him.  He  sat  back  squarely  in 
his  chair  and  took  the  iron  of  the  knowledge  that 
he  was  jealous  deep  into  his  soul.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  all  their  hours  and  hours  of  conversation 
that  she  had  ever  brought  the  hint  of  a  possible 
rival  in  among  her  words.  He  felt  the  suggestion 
sharply  and  the  folly  of  it  made  it  no  easier  to 
bear. 


j, 

y 


n 


1 

: 


Q 
I  Y 


*  I  wish  to-morrow  were  over  !  "  she  said,  presently. 


"But  it  will  be  hard  after  you  are  gone." 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  so.'^ 

"How  many  days  will  it  take  you  to  get  back  to 


"You  know  there  are  floods." 

"So  I  read  in  the  evening  paper." 

She.  lapsed  into  silence  again  and  he  tried  to  con- 
vince himself  that  her  allusion  to  the  .other  man 
did  not  really  affect  him  at  all.  As  if  a  poor  and 
proud  devil  'had  any  right  to  care  whom  any  woman 
talked  of!  —  But  luck  was  so  tough  for  some  after 
all. 

"Do  let  us  try  to  talk  a  little  about  ourselves 
now,"  she  said,  turning  towards  him  with  a  smile; 
"it  is-  the  last  night  and  I  keep  saying  over  and  over 
aga'in  that  Kathryn  is  n't  here.  I  do  wish  we  could 
talk  some  about  ourselves." 

It  was  impossible  to  think  her  a  coquette,  —  her 
sweet  ingenuous  face;  forbade  such  an  unworthy 
suspicion, 

"Let  us  talk  of  you,"  he  suggested. 


0 


V- 


T 


.  "/  am  always  so  ha,ppy 
•4,  .over  your  hurting  yourself  \" 
.f  -sAe  said  thoughtfully. 


[99] 

"Would  that  be  quite  conventional?  —  You  know 
one  of  the  changes  that  I  have  made  in  myself  lately 
has  been  in  getting  to  be  conventional.  You've 
noticed  that  —  have  n't  you?  " 

"But  you  know  I  never  knew  you  until  lately?" 

"That's  true;  but  you  will  never  forget  me 
now  —  will  you?  " 

He  shook  his  head;  in  spite  of  himself  such  an 
ache  flamed  up  in  his  heart  that  he  felt  the  echo  of 
its  pain  in  the  newly  healed  wound  on  his  temple. 

"I  shall  never  forget,"  he  said. 

"I  am  always  so  happy  over  your  hurting  your- 
self," she  said  thoughtfully.  "I  don't  think  that 
anything  ever  made  me  so  happy  in  all  my  life  as 
seeing  that  it  was  you  that  they  were  carrying  in 
here;  and  then  when  I  saw  the  blood  and  knew 
that  you  would  have  to  stay  a  long  time  —  well, 
all  I  could  do  was  just  to  give  Kathryn  one  look 
when  she  was  slow  about  going  to  have  your  room 
arranged." 

Mowbray  stood  up  and  went  and  leaned  against 
the  mantelpiece. 

"You  don't  feel  at  all  weak  when  you  walk  about 
now  —  do  you?"  she  inquired. 


"Oh,  I'm  as  strong  as  I  ever  was  in  my  life.' 

"If  I  had  not  so  much  to  do  I  should  wish  that 
you  might  have  had  a  relapse,"  she  confessed, 

He  said  nothing. 

"But  if  the  floods  are  bad  or  trouble  comes  you 
may  have  to  return  anyway." 

"  I  do  not  anticipate  floods  or  trouble." 

"But  if  there  are  strikes?" 

"You  forget  the  mail-trains." 

"But  if  the  mail-trains  should  stop  —  if  every- 
thing should  stop?  " 

He  glanced  at  her  quickly,  she  was  looking  ear- 
nestly up  at  him,  her  cheeks  a  bright  excited  scarlet. 

He  caught  the  end  of  his  mustache  between  his 
teeth  for  a  second,  then  said: 

"  Whatever  happens  I  shall  go  on.  I  am  enough 
like  you  to  follow  up  my  duty.  I  shall  go  on  even 
if  I  have  to  walk." 

She  continued  to  watch  him.  "Has  no  one  ever 
made  you  do  things  that  you  did  not  want  to  do?" 
she  asked  gently. 

"Never  since  I  was  a  very  little  chap." 

"But  it  would  be  easy  to  make  you  do  something 
that  you  had  n't  wanted  to  do  because  you  thought 


/  \ 


[101] 

that  it  was  n't  right,  if  it  could  be  proved  to  you 
that  it  was  right  after  all  —  wouldn't  it?"  she 
asked. 

"I'm  afraid  that  I  lost  the  thread  of  that,"  he 
said;  "won't  you  repeat  it,  please?" 

"It  is  n't  worth  while,"  she  said.  Then  she  rose. 
"You'll  see  what  I  meant  after  a  while,"  she  said. 

For  a  few  seconds  they  looked  at  one  another  and 
his  face  hardened  as  he  saw  the  curious  wistfulness 
overspread  hers  again. 

She  held  out  her  hand.    He  took  it. 

"Of  course  you  know,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "I 
cannot  say  anything.  There  is  so  much  —  there  is 
everything  —  that  I  want  to  say,  —  and  —  and  —  " 

Her  eyelids  drooped.  "Never  mind,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  don't  worry.  Leave  it  all  —  leave  it  all  to 
me." 

They  were  such  curious  words  for  a  man  to  hear 
from  a  woman's  lips,  but  what  followed  them  was 
more  curious  yet.  For,  lifting  her  head,  she  gave 
him  one  single  look  and  in  it  were  mingled  so  much 
power,  so  much  purpose,  and  so  much  love,  that  he 
never  forgot  it  again  as  long  as  he  lived. 

Then  they  parted  in  silence  for  the  night. 


\  . 


A 


Proposes 


[102] 


A 

/    \ 
\      / 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   BIRD  TAKES   FLIGHT 

THE  next  morning  Captain  Francis  Mowbray 
left  the  house  where  he  had  spent  nearly  four 
months.  He  went  directly  after  breakfast,  as  he  had 
much  to  attend  to  before  taking  his  train.  Besides, 
he  discovered  that  his  hostess  contemplated  an 
early  departure,  and  he  accompanied  her  and  her 
maid  to  the  station  before  going  about  his  own 
business. 

"I  don't  like  your  taking  to-day  to  travel/'  he 
said,  as  they  drove  over  the  asphalt  together; 
"  things  are  looking  blacker  than  ever  —  one  begins 
to  feel  all  manner  of  portentous  possibilities  in  the 
air." 

"I'm  not  at  all  nervous,"  said  Nathalie,  "but  I 
think  that  they  ought  to  have  passed  the  bills." 

"That  goes  without  saying,"  he  replied;  "it 
seems  fearfully  unjust  though  that  the  trouble 


t  \ 


f  Mm  ^ornan  Proposes 


[103] 

comes  to  the  innocent  instead  of  the  guilty,  don't 
you  think?" 

"There  won't  be  any  trouble,"  said  Nathalie, 
calmly;  "it's  all  going  to  be  settled  very  soon 
now." 

They  said  good-bye  on  the  train  platform  and  she 
waved  him  a  smiling  adieu  as  the  train  pulled  out. 
She  was  gone  all  day,  not  returning  until  late  in  the 
afternoon.  She  looked  tired  but  triumphant,  dusty 
but  calmly  content.  Mrs.  d'Ypres  had  been  very 
anxious  about  her,  for  history-making  had  marched 
apace  during  the  hours  of  her  absence,  and  the  older 
wisdom  of  the  older  woman  was  uneasy  over  some 
of  the  imminent  dangers. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  safe  home  again,"  she 
exclaimed,  kissing  her  affectionately;  "I  was  afraid 
that  the  men  on  the  railroads  might  walk  out  while 
you  were  there  and  keep  you  from  being  able  to 
get  back." 

Nathalie  began  to  pull  out  her  hat-pins. 

"I  think  that  I  like  being  conventional,"  she  said, 
seriously,  —  "  you  know  how  I  have  always  pre- 
ferred to  go  about  alone  up  to  now,  but  really  to- 
day Louise  was  no  trouble  at  all  and  it  made  me 


K  whmwomeS Proposes  >$N 


il 


:  \* 


[104] 

feel  so  proper  and  above  reproach,  knowing  that 
she  was  with  me." 

'What  did  you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  left  her  in  the  ladies'  waiting-room  of  the 
station  when  I  got  there,  and  she  waited  until  I  was 
ready  to  get  her  for  the  coming  back." 

"Did  you  see  an  afternoon  paper?  The  head- 
lines are  terrible,  —  they  say  Lef evre  has  declared 
that  he  will  call  out  every  working-man  in  the 
country,  if  necessary." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Nathalie,  composedly. 

"Did  you  read  the  message  that  he  sent  to  the 
head  of  the  government?  " 

"No." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  took  up  the  paper  and  turned  herself 
to  the  light;  she  did  not  see  the  sudden  change  from 
carelessness  to  strained  attention  in  the  other's  face 
as  she  did  so,  but  it  was  there.  The  paper  was  a 
five  o'clock  edition  and  in  letters  doubly  leaded  was 
given  the  following  brief  communication: 

"Sir: 

"You  are  unquestionably  aware  of  the  great 
discontent  that  prevails  throughout  our  nation 


!%/ 


3SZCQ 


because  of  the  failure  of  the  lawmaking  bodies  to 
pass  bills  to  regulate  by  a  minimum  wage  the  wages 
of  the  industrial  forces  of  the  country,  and  to  in- 
crease the  pay  of  the  army  officers  and  enlisted 
men.  My  judgment  is  that  if  these  bills  are  not 
enacted  into  law  at  an  early  date  serious  industrial 
difficulties  may  arise. 

"  Trusting  that  you  may  use  your  high  and  good 
offices  in  the  interest  of  these  beneficent  measures, 
I  am,  with  great  respect, 

"Yours  truly, 

"RALPH  LEFEVRE, 
''President  United  Working  Men." 

"It's  a  nice  letter,"  said  Nathalie,  when  the 
reading  terminated.  "What  did  they  do  about 
it?" 

"  Nothing  yet.  The  Executive  sent  it  to  the  session 
and  the  session  laid  it  over  for  consideration." 

A  curious  smile  encircled  Nathalie's  mouth. 

"I  hope  that  Mr.  Lefevre  will  keep  his  word/' 
she  said  slowly. 

"Oh,  that  would  mean  so  much  suffering  and 
trouble." 

"V\iv    doesn't    the    government   act   then   and 


f 1 

t     ; 


^  I  w 

0 
A 


v£/  cj\^^t/    ' 

Proposes 


give  the  men  their  rights.  God  did  n't  intend  the 
many  to  work  without  enough  to  live  on  while  the 
few  have  much  too  much." 

"Nathalie,  you  are  an  anarchist!" 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  only  beginning  to  feel  strongly. 
It  is  only  lately  that  I  began  to  learn  what  feeling 
strongly  is  to  life." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  looked  down  at  the  paper  and  said 
nothing. 

After  a  minute  her  friend  continued, 

"  I  feel  so  strongly  about  Captain  Mowbray  that 
it  makes  me  feel  strongly  about  all  the  rest  of  man- 
kind, too." 

"  Not  in  the  same  way,  I  hope." 

"Well,  I  feel  the  same  way  as  far  as  their  getting 
paid  enough  to  get  married  on  is  concerned." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  understand;  but  in  your  case  you 
have  enough  for  two,  dear." 

Nathalie  rose  suddenly.  "  I  have  n't  enough  for 
two  now,"  she  said;  "this  has  been  a  fearfully  ex- 
pensive day  for  me." 

Then  she  went  away  to  her  own  room  and  re- 
mained there  until  the  hour  at  which  dinner  was 
usually  served.  She  came  down  looking  restless  and 


D 


feverish.  Mrs.  d'Ypres  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase,  her  own  face  pale. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "do  you  hear?  They  are 
crying  extras  in  the  street." 

Nathalie  stood  still  as  if  transfixed;  after  a  minute 
of  what  was  apparently  consideration  but  which 
was  in  truth  a  sickening  sensation  of  dizziness,  she 
said,  "Have  they  begun  to  call  out  the  employees 
on  the  railroads?" 

"Yes  —  on  the  southern  lines." 

"Not  on  the  western?  " 

"No." 

She  led  the  way  into  the  library  and,  pausing  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  for  a  minute.  "If  he  travels  all  to-night  he 
won't  be  able  to  get  back  to-morrow  —  will  he?" 
she  said,  standing  thus. 

"Do  you  want  him  back  to-morrow?"  Mrs. 
d'Ypres  asked. 

"You  know  that  I  have  wanted  him  every  minute 
since  I  first  saw  him  standing  by  that  pillar." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  over  the 
city.  There  seemed  to  be  an  unusual  hue  and  cry 
swelling  out  from  its  evening  dusk.  The  clanging 


$°CI>? 


n^oman?ropoje5 


[108] 

accents  of  the  newsboys  dominated  every  other 
noise;  their  words  were,  as  a  rule,  undistinguishable; 
but  every  few  minutes  one  would  pass  directly  be- 
fore the  house  and  then  what  he  was  calling  became 
almost  painfully  clear. 

Nathalie  stood  looking  out  until  the  butler  an- 
nounced dinner,  then  she  turned  and  her  friend  was 
struck  afresh  by  the  heightened  color  and  emotion 
in  her  face. 

"I  wonder  if  any  one  knows  as  much  as  I  know 
to-night,"  she  said,  as  they  moved  towards  the 
dining-room. 

"Do  you  know  so  much?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  asked, 
in  surprise. 

"Yes,  I  know  a  great  deal  —  so  much  that  I  dare 
not  think  how  much,  —  so  much  that  it  makes  me 
content  not  to  tell  even  you." 

"I  am  willing  to  wait  patiently,"  her  friend  re- 
plied; in  her  heart  she  foreboded  some  mental  break- 
down as  a  result  of  the  long  strain  of  gnawing 
excitement. 

The  dinner  was  allowed  to  pass  by  almost  un- 
touched and  in  absolute  silence.  After  it  was  over 
they  returned  to  the  library.  The  French  windows 


[109] 

were  open  and  the  insistent  hum  came  in  with  every 
little  breath  of  air. 

Nathalie  walked  up  and  down. 

"Kathryn,"  she  said  presently,  "I  have  told  you 
over  and  over  that  he  made  me  desire  to  be  another 
woman.  He  did  not  just  make  me  want  to  be 
changed,  he  made  me  capable  of  changing,  —  he 
changed  me.  A  woman  cannot  love  a  man  and 
watch  him  fight  for  the  right  in  the  face  of  what  he 
wants,  and  what  she  wants,  even  when  he's  ill,  even 
when  he 's  weak,  month  after  month,  —  just  be- 
cause of  his  conscience,  —  she  can't  watch  that 
and  understand  it  and  not  change  —  and  grow 
strong,  too.  I'm  another  woman  now  —  do  you 
know  it?" 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  could  not  find  words  to  reply  at 
once.  Before  she  did  find  them  Nathalie  was  speak- 
ing again. 

"  I  have  always  been  unlike  other  women,  but  to- 
day I  have  become  unlike  in  a  new  way.  I  have 
not  been  able  to  understand  myself  lately;  since  last 
night  I  have  not  been  able  to  understand  myself 
at  all.  It  is  as  if  anything  were  become  possible  to 
me  —  if  only  it  would  bring  him  back." 


u 


A 


A 

V 


A 


Proposes  < 


[110] 


"I  think  that  he  will  come  back,"  said  the  friend. 

"Of  course  he  will  come  back  —  "  she  was  still 
walking  to  and  fro,  and  now  she  approached  the 
window  and  stopped  to  listen;  a  boy  going  by 
was  yelling  with  all  the  force  that  his  lungs  possessed. 
Nathalie  whirled  about. 

"  Kathryn,"  she  cried,  "  Kathryn,  —  do  you  hear?  " 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  sprang  towards  her. 

"Hear  what?  —  what  is  it?" 

"All  the  men  on  the  western  roads  have  gone 
out!" 

"Merciful  Heavens!" 

"Yes,  I  hear  the  words  distinctly.  Oh,  I  am  so 
glad,  —  he  could  not  have  gotten  two  hours  upon 
his  way." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  sank  down  upon  a  seat. 

"Don't  get  nervous,  dear,"  her  friend  said, 
soothingly. 

"I'm  afraid  that  we  are  on  the  brink  of  a  revo- 
lution." 

"What  a  crazy  notion!  It's  all  quite  right,— 
the  best  way  to  settle  things  now-a-days.  The  head 
of  the  government  and  Mr.  Lefevre  can  manage, 
they  know  how,  —  it's  only  the  stupid  men  who 


car 


Proposes  § 


tin] 

make  the  laws  that  need  setting  to  rights  —  that's 
all." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  leaned  her  head  against  the  tufted 
silk  of  the  chair-back  and  shut  her  eyes.  Nathalie 
continued  to  stand  by  the  window.  A  sort  of  added 
excitement  seemed  to  be  spreading  in  the  air  with- 
out, a  cloud  of  unrest  and  troublous  wonder  ema- 
nated from  the  city,  and  floated  wider  with  every 
human  being  who  walked  the  streets.  Something 
intangible  that  had  been  kept  under  was  beginning 
to  surge  to  the  surface  to-night;  the  fresh  "  Extras  " 
that  were  being  cried  continually  were  the  visible 
beats  of  a  national  pulse,  the  impatient  fever  of 
which  was  being  fanned  rapidly  toward  some  burn- 
ing outbreak. 

"Did  you  hear,  Kathryn?"  Nathalie  exclaimed 
after  a  little,  "Did  you  hear  that?" 

"I  heard  nothing." 

"The  men  on  every  railroad  in  the  country  have 
ceased  to  work." 

"Oh,  most  merciful  God!" 

Nathalie  leaned  closer  to  the  window,  —  she 
listened  breathlessly.  Then  she  said  with  emphasis, 

"Yes,  on  every  road." 


6 


"a   oman  Proposes 


[112] 

At  that  moment  the  door-bell  rang  violently. 
Mrs.  d'Ypres  screamed  hysterically,  and  Nathalie 
turned  sharply. 

"  Don't  do  that,  Kathryn,  —  nothing  is  going  to 
hurt  you." 

The  butler  came  in  with  a  telegram.  It  was  for 
Mrs.  Arundel.  She  tore  it  open. 

"  I  am  going  on  a  mail-train.  —  M." 

She  read  it  aloud  to  her  friend  without  any  com- 
ment. Then  she  returned  to  the  window;  men 
were  hurrying  towards  the  city's  centre,  stopping 
to  buy  papers  each  time  that  a  new  extra  was  cried. 
Nathalie  watched  it  all  with  vivid  interest. 

"There,"  she  said  after  a  while,  "that  is  the  third 
boy  who  has  called  that,  so  it  must  be  true." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  did  not  reply. 

"Are  you  asleep  or  have  you  fainted?"  Nathalie 
asked,  without  turning  from  the  window. 

"  I  am  trying  to  be  calm; "  the  other's  voice  shook. 

"You're  not  succeeding  very  well.  Don't  be 
so  nervous,  Kathryn,  —  it  is  all  going  to  be  for  the 
best;  it  is  only  that  it  is  the  only  way.  It  is  begin- 
ning to  work  out  now." 


KyC^.';::-::..^.-.-:';;'...^1^...,  _j 


[1133 

"How?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  asked  feebly. 

"The  Executive  has  called  a  special  council  of 
his  advisers  to  meet  to-night." 

"They  can't  do  anything." 

"No,  but  perhaps  events  will  help  them." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  began  to  sob. 

"You're  so  silly,  Kathryn." 

"I'm  so  frightened." 

"That's  foolish.  Things  are  getting  worse  so 
that  they  can  get  better.  Even  a  country  has  to 
touch  bottom  once  in  a  while.  When  this  has  gone 
on  a  little  further  they  will  have  to  call  out  the 
militia  and  then  the  regulars."  She  quitted  the 
window  and  came  over,  placing  her  hand  upon  her 
friend's  which  clung  cold  and  trembling  at  her 
bosom.  "Kathryn,"  she  said,  "just  wait  until 
then  —  until  they  call  on  the  army.  Just  as  soon 
as  the  government  calls  on  the  army  the  whole  will 
be  very  quickly  settled."  Her  voice  rang  with  such 
a  strange  note  that  Mrs.  d'Ypres  was  startled  in 
spite  of  her  agitation. 

"How  can  you  speak  so?  You  know  what  it 
is  when  the  troops  and  the  people  come  into 
collision,  —  it  is  the  worst  of  all.  Don't  think 


!•       J 

ZO3 


Q 


Wnm  "fcan  Proposes 


...-•• 


[114] 

of  that;  pray  that  that  may  be  avoided  at  any 
cost." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Nathalie;  "we  are  in  a  situa- 
tion where  only  the  army  can  help  us.  They  will 
do  it,  I  am  positive.  Trust  my  word,  dear,  and  let 
us  go  to  bed  and  sleep  quietly." 

"Sleep  quietly,"  groaned  Mrs.  d'Ypres,  "all  I 
can  think  of  is  stones  crashing  in  our  windows." 

"  No  stones  will  crash,  dear,  —  we  can  make  sure 
of  that  by  going  into  rooms  on  the  court;  come  now." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  rose  feebly  to  her  feet. 

"Loving  a  soldier  has  indeed  made  you  over  all 
new,  Nathalie,"  she  said,  attempting  to  smile. 
"  Personally  all  I  can  think  of  is  the  Red  Terror  and 
the  guillotine." 

Nathalie  laughed  aloud. 

"Don't  laugh;  you  know  this  that  has  come  to- 
day is  the  culmination  of  years  and  years  of  patching 
up  trouble." 

Nathalie  laughed  again. 

"But  our  army,  Kathryn,"  she  said,  putting  an 
arm  about  her  and  drawing  her  affectionately 
closer;  " you  forget  our  army.  We 've  been  strength- 
ening it  and  disciplining  it  and  giving  it  every  sort 


Proposes  () 


[115] 

of  advantage  until  now  in  our  hour  of  need  — 
She  stopped. 

"I  hear  them  calling  something  else,"  she  ex- 
claimed, and  ran  back  to  the  window. 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  asked. 

Nathalie  clapped  her  hands.  "It  is  just  what 
I  thought." 

"Tell  me  quickly,  dear,  don't  torture  me." 

"  The  mail-trains  have  been  stopped,  —  the  gov- 
ernment will  call  out  the  troops." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!" 

"Come,  Kathryn,"  the  younger  woman  returned 
at  once  to  her  friend's  side  and  drew  her  arm  again 
about  her;  "come,  poor  dear,  we'll  go  upstairs  at 
once." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  could  hardly  walk  for  nervous 
trembling. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  frightened  —  so  frightened,"  she 
kept  saying. 

They  went  slowly  upstairs  and  by  the  upper 
newel-post  she  stopped. 

"Oh,  what  is  that?"  she  wailed. 

Nathalie  went  quickly  towards  the  front  of  the 
house. 


o 


0 


-r-^"* •. 

<-%•' ^ 

?ropo5C5 


"It  sounds  like  a  great  many  voices  yelling  the 
same  words  all  together,"  she  replied,  leaning  out 
of  the  window. 

The  distant  roar  drew  nearer.  It  did  appear  to 
be  some  piece  of  news  shrieked  in  unison  to  produce 
a  greater  effect.  Nearer  and  nearer.  Nearer  and 
nearer. 

It  was  a  body  of  two  or  three  dozen  boys  and  men 
whom  some  paper  had  hired  for  the  purpose  of  thus 
calling  attention  to  the  final  coup  of  the  evening. 
As  they  came  along  others  appeared  to  join  their 
ranks;  in  the  moonlight  and  gaslight  of  the  approach- 
ing midnight  the  sight  of  the  moving  mass,  all  keep- 
ing time  as  they  walked  and  chanting  their  message 
in  unison,  was  certainly  rather  unsettling  to  the 
imagination. 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  d'Ypres  kept  repeating,  "oh, 
tell  me  what  it  is. " 

Nathalie  pushed  the  window  softly  down. 

"Dear,"  she  said  gently,  "there  will  be  nothing 
more  to  disturb  us  to-night  —  no  more  extras. 
Lefevre  has  called  out  every  working-man  in  the 
country,  and  the  Executive  has  called  out  the 
troops." 


[117] 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  clung  to  the  newel-post. 

"You  mean  — ?"  she  faltered. 

"I  mean  that  there  will  be  no  more  newspapers, 
no  more  trains,  no  more  anything,  until  — "  she 
paused  and  thought  a  minute  and  then  she  added  in 
a  curious  tone  of  waiting  triumph,  "until  to-morrow, 
dear,  until  to-morrow!" 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  Kathryn,  how  can  you?"  Nathalie  pro- 
tested. "You  always  say  you  love  me  and  now 
when  you  know  that  everything  is  happening  just 
to  suit  me,  you  cry!" 

"To  suit  you?  —  how,  to  suit  you?"  sobbed  the 
friend. 

"Why,  haven't  the  mail-trains  been  stopped? 
He  can't  go  on  now  unless  he  walks  —  can  he?" 


\ 

u 


u 


\/ 


A 


wRm  Woman  'Proposes  < 


[118] 


A 

/  \ 

\  f 

\! 

V 


A 

y 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NEW    FACTOR   IN    THE   CRISIS 

THE  next  morning  a  whole  nation  lay  locked  — 
locked  out! 

Only  the  telegraph  and  telephone  lines  were  work- 
ing; not  one  other  form  of  business  was  exempt 
from  the  wholesale  mandate.  Not  a  train  —  not 
a  car  —  not  even  a  wagon  moved;  the  wheels  of 
manufactory,  mine  machinery,  cash-carrier,  and 
printing-press  had  alike  ceased  to  turn.  The  entire 
laboring  force  of  the  country  had  obeyed  their 
leader's  call  to  a  man,  and  in  the  course  of  only  a 
few  hours  the  most  gigantic  strike  ever  contemplated 
had  become  both  a  fact  and  a  factor  in  history. 
Lefevre  held  the  pass-key  to  the  situation  through 
the  network  of  wires  which  he  had  given  out  his 
intention  of  leaving  in  operation  for  the  twelve 
hours  beginning  at  midnight.  Then,  when  noon 
should  strike  upon  the  following  day,  if  the  crucial 
question  of  a  fair  adjustment  of  pay  and  profit  for 


A 

U 


[119] 

labor  as  well  as  pay  and  profit  for  capital,  had  not 
been  satisfactorily  settled  in  some  way,  he  proposed 
to  strike  a  final  blow  by  at  once  and  effectively  end- 
ing the  duel  between  the  powers  of  rebellious  rulers 
and  those  whom  they  ruled,  by  closing  all  the  tele- 
graphic offices  forthwith. 

This  ultimatum  had  been  laid  before  the  Execu- 
tive and  his  councillors  shortly  before  midnight. 
They  had  already  issued  the  call  for  troops.  This 
action  had  been  unavoidable  directly  the  stoppage 
of  the  mail-trains  was  known.  The  army  were 
charged  as  a  whole  to  hold  themselves  ready  for 
active  service,  to  enforce  law  and  order,  to  protect 
property  if  necessary,  possibly  to  administer  martial 
law,  should  occasion  for  force  arise. 

The  call  for  the  troops  went  forth  at  eleven;  the 
ultimatum  was  brought  in  at  half-past;  the  Execu- 
tive and  those  with  him  were  considering  summon- 
ing the  country's  law-givers  in  Special  Session  for 
the  hour  set  as  final  in  Lefevre's  message. 

"We  must  advance  the  hour,"  some  one  said, 
breaking  the  silence  that  followed  the  reading  of  the 
message. 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  that  this  time  they  will  deal 


A 


/'• 

0 


y 

:\  : 


Proposes 


fitly  with  the  terrific  problem  presented  to  them," 
said  the  head  of  the  government.  The  strong  lines 
of  his  face  were  laid  in  even  more  strongly  than  ever 
by  the  keenness  of  his  determinations.  Personally 
he  had  no  feeling  that  his  countrymen  were  in  re- 
bellion, —  on  the  contrary,  he  felt  himself  backed 
up  in  a  contest  in  which  he  had  frequently  fought 
single-handed  and  alone.  Rebellion  is  a  term  whose 
only  evil  lies  in  the  fact  that  its  battles  are  generally 
to  the  weakest. 

A  few  minutes  later  another  message  was  brought 
in  and  read.  The  silence  that  followed  the  reading 
of  the  second  message  was  death-like.  It  is  beyond 
the  power  of  language  to  describe  adequately  the 
impressiveness  of  the  moment. 

The  call  had  gone  forth  to  the  army  and  the  army 
had  responded  to  a  man.  The  response  had  been 
one  which  threw  the  difficulties  of  the  previous  hour 
completely  into  the  shade. 

The  army  had  replied  that  it  also  was  convinced 
that  there  was  but  one  effective  and  bloodless  way 
of  adjusting  difficulties  in  modern  times,  and  that 
therefore,  they,  following  the  precedent  set  by  the 
other  inadequately  paid  millions  of  the  country, 
had  also  gone  out. 


"Proposes 


[121 


A  very  few  telegrams,  cablegrams,  and  marconi- 
grams  settled  the  truth  of  the  statement  beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt.  At  midnight  the  army  slept  at 
all  its  posts,  the  navy  rocked  at  anchor  without 
steam  up,  and  the  millions  and  millions  and  millions 
of  men  upon  whose  shoulders  the  heavy  burden  of 
life's  manual  labor  usually  rested,  waited,  wondering, 
to  see  what  was  "going  to  be  done  about  it."  At 
last  the  old  by-word  had  wearied  of  its  long  alle- 
giance, and  abruptly  deserted  to  the  majority's  side. 

About  6  A.  M.  two  men  met  without  witnesses  in 
a  small  private  room  in  the  Executive  Mansion.  A 
few  hours  previous  there  had  been  a  fair  stretch  of 
railway  journey  between  them,  but  Necessity  had 
found  means  to  convey  one  to  the  other,  —  perhaps 
Necessity  had  employed  an  automobile. 

Had  these  two  men  been  less  strong  individually 
some  species  of  horrible  disorder  might  have  resulted 
from  the  unparalleled  manner  in  which  one  had 
chosen  to  cut  the  other's  Gordian  knot,  but  for- 
tunately for  the  country  which  they  ruled  at  the  mo- 
ment between  them,  each  was  equal  and  more  than 
equal  to  the  work  which  it  had  fallen  to  his  lot  to  do. 


X 

n 


O 


1 1 


Proposes 


xmzo 


One  was  the  head  of  the  government,  a  man  who 
fought  for  every  cause  in  which  the  courage  of  his 
convictions  backed  him  up,  —  the  other  was  Lefevre, 
the  genius  of  labor  organization. 

They  sat  down  on  either  side  of  a  large  writing- 
table  and  looked  steadily  at  one  another,  not  with 
the  measured  glance  of  armed  antagonists  but  rather 
with  the  deep  and  comprehensive  sympathy  of  co- 
workers  in  humanity's  great  travail  for  life.  For 
life  considered,  not  just  as  a  struggle  for  the  means 
to  live,  but  life  in  its  truest,  broadest  sense,  —  the 
right  to  be  good,  do  good,  and  provide  for  another 
generation  to  be  better  and  do  better. 

Both  men  looked  white,  tired,  and  very  earnest. 

"This  interview  is  not  official,"  said  the  Execu- 
tive; "we  are  alone  together,  man  and  man,  to 
discuss  fully,  freely,  frankly,  what  can  be  done." 

"Only  one  thing  can  be  done,"  said  Lefevre. 

" And  that  is— ?" 

"The  bill  for  the  adjustment  of  wages  in  accord- 
ance with  some  equable  division  of  profits  must  be 
passed  as  soon  as  the  Special  Session  convenes 
to-day." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  his  superior;  he  laid  his  hand 


0 


o<^;>o^g2 

/  \s 


v-cx:;'  >o — 


[123] 

upon  the  table  and  clenched  his  fist  closely,  "  excuse 
me,  but  that  bill  has  become  secondary  in  the  present 
difficulty.  When  I  received  your  first  message 
yesterday  afternoon  I  gathered  no  faintest  suspicion 
of  its  actual  purport  from  its  wording.  The  last 
blow  found  me  totally  unprepared.  The  whole 
burden  of  the  crisis  is  in  my  eyes  a  mere  nothing 
beside  the  action  of  the  sworn  servants  of  the  govern- 
ment itself.  As  I  said  before,  we  are  alone,  you  are 
a  man  of  honor,  I  am  the  same.  I  ask  you  then  to 
satisfy  me  first  of  all  by  telling  me  how  and  by  what 
means  you  so  completely  —  so  suddenly,  in  so  aston- 
ishing and  overwhelming  a  manner,  gained  control 
of  the  entire  body  of  our  military  and  naval  force. 
Day  before  yesterday  there  were  no  more  brave 
and  loyal  citizens  in  the  world  than  the  soldiers  and 
sailors  of  our  country;  last  night  they  planted 
their  bayonets  and  pikes  against  the  very  heart  of 
their  motherland." 

Lefevre  smiled. 

"The  explanation  is  very  simple,"  he  said: 
"opportunity  is  ever  the  instrument  of  wisdom  and 
the  soul  of  enterprise.  I  simply  showed  the  army 
their  opportunity  —  they  seized  it;  that  is  all." 


<§: 

^Proposes 


[124] 

"But  there  was  neither  discontent  nor  dissatis- 
faction." 

"No,  but  there  was  a  very  fair  leaning  towards 
both  sentiments,  and  the  shadow  was  so  like  the 
substance  that  the  effect  upon  the  case  was  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  it  would  have  been  if  the  army 
and  navy  had  really  been  disaffected  and  discon- 
tented; we  will  say  disaffected  through  insufficient 
pay,  —  we  will  say  discontented  because  the  bill 
to  remedy  the  matter  was  so  promptly  laid  upon  the 
table  while  that  very  day,  if  my  memory  serve  me 
rightly,  a  bill  to  dredge  and  build  locks  in  an  un- 
navigable  river  for  purposes  of  private  exploitation 
on  its  shores,  was  passed  at  once  and  pledged  three 
tunes  the  money." 

The  Executive  sat  silent;  then,  after  a  few 
seconds,  he  said,  "You  have  been  contemplating 
the  army  and  navy  as  possible  allies  ever  since  the 
bill  for  increasing  their  pay  was  laid  over?" 

"No,"  said  Lefevre,  "the  idea  never  entered  my 
head  until  yesterday  morning." 

The  other  man  started  violently  and  searched  his 
face  with  a  glance  of  quick  apprehension  —  as  if 
fearing  a  sudden  access  of  insanity,  "  Until  yester- 
day morning!"  he  repeated. 


~<§c 

?ropo5e5 


[125] 

"Until  yesterday  morning,"  said  Lefevre,  im- 
perturbably. 

" And  then— ?" 

"Then  it  was  suggested  to  me." 

"Suggested  to  you  by  whom?" 

"By  a  woman." 

The  Executive  laid  both  hands  upon  the  arms  of 
his  chair  with  the  suddenly  arrested  start  of  one 
whose  interest  puts  down  his  astonishment. 

"By  a  woman!"  he  exclaimed. 

"By  a  woman." 

"A  woman  where?" 

"  By  a  woman  of  this  city.  She  came  to  my  office 
by  the  morning  train  yesterday;  she  stayed  two 
hours.  At  first  I  was  unable  to  grasp  the  full  scope 
of  her  plan;  then  when  I  did  grasp  it  I  saw  no 
way  to  put  it  into  successful  operation  without  the 
outlay  of  a  sum  of  money  far  greater  than  I  could 
command.  I  told  her  so  frankly.  She  provided  the 
money.  Then  she  took  an  afternoon  train  back 
here." 

The  Chief's  face  had  become  bitterly  hard  and 
doubtful. 
N  "  Are  you  intending  to  imply  that  you  bought  the 


U 


A 


A 

y 


[126] 

troops  over,  man  by  man?"  he  asked;  there  was 
a  tone  of  contempt  at  the  preposterousness  of  the 
story  in  his  voice. 

Lefevre  smiled  again. 

"Not  at  all;  I  merely  mean  to  state  that  by 
the  immediate  outlay  of  some  millions  of  dollars  I 
got  a  concise  statement  of  the  case  into  the  hands 
of  every  officer  on  land  and  sea  in  less  than  three 
hours,  thus  giving  him  eight  hours  to  retail  the  situa- 
tion to  his  command  and  insure  their  unanimous 
co-operation  when  the  call  came." 

"Good  God!"  said  the  Executive. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  placed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes  and  was  again  silent  for  some  seconds. 
When  he  looked  up,  Lefevre  was  regarding  him, 
motionless. 

"You  say  that  the  woman  is  here?"  the  Chief 
asked  then. 

"Yes,  she  lives  here." 

"Have  you  her  address?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"Let  us  send  for  her." 

Lefevre  bowed  his  head  in  acquiescence,  took  out 
his  notebook  and  produced  the  address. 


/  \ 


[127] 

"What  sort  of  a  woman  is  she?"  the  Executive 
asked. 

"She  is  a  very  remarkable  woman,"  said  the  other 
man,  "she  impressed  me  as  being  one  who  would 
move  heaven  and  earth  to  accomplish  anything 
which  she  set  out  to  do." 

"I  think  she  seems  to  be  doing  it,"  said  the  Ex- 
ecutive a  little  grimly.  "Well,  we  will  send  for 
her  and  consider  the  possibility  of  her  appearing  as 
a  witness  before  the  Special  Session  when  they 
take  up  the  first  bill  —  the  one  as  to  the  army 
pay." 

Lefevre  looked  steadily  across  the  table. 

"The  first  bill  to  come  up,"  he  said,  "must  be  the 
bill  for  the  adjustment  of  wages.  The  army  can 
wait;  they  have  waited  before." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Executive;  "the 
army  is  the  backbone  of  law  and  order  in  the 
country.  Give  back  that  pledge  and  you  will  win 
an  admiration  and  respect  which  will  strengthen  — 
never  weaken  —  your  cause.  Magnanimity  at  this 
juncture  should  go  hand  in  hand  with  absolute 
power." 

"My  cause  has  waited  long  to  come  into  power," 


0 

V 


c>^>.'  ""^^"'"•'•;rv^n 

.......7^C"~v.-J?;3-.::I...>sX/ 


[128] 

said  Lefevre,  "and  strong  as  it  appears  in  this  hour 
I  hesitate  to  apply  the  Golden  Rule  too  closely." 

"I  will'pledge  you  my  honor,  if  a  pledge  is  neces- 
sary," said  the  Executive;  "the  lesson  has  been 
learned,  I  believe,  —  let  us  abide  by  its  coming 
consequences." 

"Very  well,"  said  I^efevre,  "I  will  give  the  army- 
bill  precedence." 

"And  now  what  did  you  say  was  the  address  of 
your  adviser?"  asked  the  Chief,  smiling. 

"Mrs.  Nathalie  Arundel, — and  there  is  her 
house  and  street  number,"  he  pushed  a  card  across 
the  table  as  he  spoke. 

The  other  man  struck  a  call-bell,  gave  an  order 
to  the  responding  servant,  and  then  rose  wearily 
from  his  seat. 

"The  Special  Session  convenes  at  ten  o'clock,"  he 
said,  "  it  is  half-past  six  now.  We  have  a  brief  hour 
before  Mrs.  Arundel's  arrival.  May  I  offer  you  a 
room  and  an  opportunity  to  take  a  little  rest?" 

"I  shall  be  most  grateful,"  said  Lefevre.  "I  am 
indeed  very  weary." 

He  rose  too  and  together  they  left  the  room. 


K  "^^a  Woman  Proposes 


CHAPTER  IX 

ONE   SOLDIER    REPORTS    FOR    DUTY 

MRS.  D'YPRES  went  in  herself  to  wake 
Nathalie.  The  latter  was  sleeping  very 
soundly,  as  if  each  resting  minute  was  balancing  her 
account  against  the  troublous  ones  of  the  previous 
day.  The  older  woman  envied  the  younger,  her  own 
nerves  were  of  the  sort  which  naturally  gain  repose 
with  the  return  of  daylight,  but  she  was  uneasy 
over  the  deathly  hush  in  the  streets.  To  her  the 
contrast  with  the  uproar  of  the  previous  evening 
was  ominous  indeed. 

"My  dear,  there  is  a  message." 

Nathalie  opened  her  eyes  at  once. 

"A  message  —  from  whom?  " 

"From  the  Government  House,  and  they  are 
waiting." 

"So  early,"  —  she  sat  up  and  pushed  back  her 
hair  with  one  hand  while  she  held  out  the  other  for 


'X 

n 
\/ 


LA\J 

m 

6 


the  paper.  "  Oh,  I  was  50  sound  asleep.  Did  you 
sleep  any,  Kathryn?" . 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  smiled  palely.  "  A  little,  dear,  — 
but  read  your  note.  They  are  waiting,  you  know." 

Nathalie  began  to  open  the  envelope.  "  It  sounds 
very  quiet  everywhere  —  no  more  extras." 

"It  is  all  horrible  —  horrible,"  said  her  friend, 
shuddering;  "everything  is  at  a  stand-still.  To 
think  of  a  whole  country  on  a  strike  and  then, 
when  the  troops  are  called  out,  they  strike  too." 

She  looked  to  see  the  other  startled  by  this  new 
development  but  she  merely  said,  "Ah,  is  that  so? 
Well,  it's  better  than  if  they  fought,  dear  —  "  and 
began  reading  her  note  as  she  spoke.  "Anything 
is  better  than  that,"  she  continued  after  a  little; 
"for  my  part  I'm  glad  the  whole  country's  sat 
down  in  arms.  The  government  refused  to  take  any 
action  as  to  what  the  people  needed;  now  the 
people  have  retaliated  and  refuse  to  take  any  action 
in  their  turn.  I  think  that  it's  grand,  —  it's  splen- 
did, —  it 's  really  awe-inspiring.  I  'm  glad  I '  ve  lived 
to  see  this  day." 

She  folded  the  note  together  as  she  ceased  speak- 
ing, looked  up  at  her  friend  and  smiled  brightly. 


oman  Proposes 


[131] 

"I  am  summoned  to  Government  House  at  once," 
she  said,  "the  head  of  the  government  has  Mr. 
Lefevre  there  to  consult  as  to  the  Special  Session 
to-day,  and  they  want  me  to  join  them  as  soon  as  I 
can." 

"Nathalie!"  cried  Mrs.  d'Ypres  astounded, — 
"the  —  they  —  "  she  faltered  to  a  full  stop,  com- 
pletely overcome. 

"I  wish  you'd  call  Louise,  please,"  said  the 
younger  woman;  "don't  look  like  that,  Kathryn,  — 
nothing  is  the  matter." 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  stumbled  in  the  direction  of  the  bell. 

"I  want  to  get  dressed  as  soon  as  I  can.  The 
Special  Session  convenes  at  ten  o'clock  and  we  want 
time  to  talk  over  things  first." 

"My  dear,"  said  her  friend,  "have  you  lost  your 
senses  or  have  I  lost  mine?  " 

Nathalie  slipped  out  of  bed  and  reached  for  her 
dressing-gown,  "I  have  n't  lost  my  senses,"  she  said. 
"I  am  simply  revelling  in  thinking  how  many  I've 
got.  A  woman  needs  them  all  when  she  begins  to 
take  active  steps  towards  getting  a  captain's  pay 
increased  to  where  he  will  consider  that  he  can 
marry." 


Q 
/  % 
«*  » 


/  \ 


•••<§;: 
?ropose5 


[132] 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  just  stared;  her  nerves  had  been 
quite  too  much  for  her;  she  really  could  not 
understand  at  all. 

Half  an  hour  later  Nathalie  came  into  her  room 
all  dressed  to  go  out.  "Don't  worry,  Kathryn,"  she 
said  with  a  touch  of  contrition  over  the  other's 
pallor;  "this  day  has  got  to  be  lived  through,  but 
we'll  all  be  at  peace  by  nightfall." 

"We're  too  much  at  peace  just  now,  I  think," 
murmured  poor  Mrs.  d'Ypres. 

Nathalie  laughed.  "Well,  perhaps  we  are,"  she 
admitted,  "I'll  reform  my  phrase,  and  say  we'll 
all  be  roaring  again  by  nightfall.  Do  you  like  that 
way  of  putting  it  better?" 

Mrs.  d'Ypres  did  not  smile.  Nathalie  left  her 
sitting  in  the  room  on  the  court  and  went  blithely 
away. 

The  Executive  and  Lefevre  had  breakfasted  before 
she  arrived.  The  coming  through  the  streets  had 
been  a  novel  experience,  and  the  strange  and  curi- 
ous hush  that  was  all  about  had  filled  her  with  a 
first  appreciation  of  the  tremendous  weight  that 
attended  the  day's  events.  When  she  was  shown 
into  the  little  private  room  where  both  the  men 


^tJ.' CST^Aii  X^k  ^V 

n^omart  Proposes 


[133] 

awaited  her  together  her  face  was  as  grave  as  either 
of  theirs.  Both  had  risen  at  her  entrance;  the  Ex- 
ecutive was  visibly  surprised  at  just  the  sort  of 
woman  who  had  so  calmly  arranged  to  put  a  cog  in 
her  country's  wheels,  and  his  greeting  was  formal 
although  pleasant  in  tone. 

A  chair  had  been  placed  for  her  and  she  sat  down 
at  once,  pulling  off  her  long  gloves  as  she  did  so  and 
clasping  her  hands  upon  the  table.  Lefevre  resumed 
his  seat  to  her  right  and  the  Executive  resumed  his 
to  her  left;  both  men  fixed  their  whole  attention  upon 
her  and  she  smiled  a  little  at  each  in  turn. 

The  Chief  spoke  first. 

"There  is  neither  time  nor  need  for  preliminaries," 
he  said,  addressing  himself  to  the  new-comer. 
"Mrs.  Arundel  knows  why  she  is  here  quite  as  well 
as  we  do  —  possibly  much  better.  I  will  only  say 
that  in  the  hour  of  serious  trouble  the  first  step 
towards  relief  must  of  "necessity  lie  in  the  direction 
of  discovering  the  source  of  the  difficulty.  I  sent 
for  Mr.  Lefevre,  supposing  him  to  be  the  source,  — 
his  revelations  led  us  both  to  send  for  you." 

He  paused;  Nathalie's  eyes  passed  swiftly  back 
and  forth  between  their  faces;  she  smiled  again. 


u 


y  \ 


() 

V 


Proposes  < 


[134] 

"We  are  here  to  come  as  quickly  as  possible  to  a 
clear  understanding,"  continued  the  Chief,  —  "we 
have  only  a  few  brief  minutes  before  the  curtain  will 
rise  on  what  we  hope  will  be  the  final  scene  in  the 
impending  crisis  of  our  country's  history.  That  it 
is  a  crisis  is  owing  to  Mr.  Lefevre,  and  that  it  is  a 
crisis  that  presents  possibilities  of  overwhelming 
disorder  and  disaster  is  owing  to  you.  The  great- 
est events  in  the  world's  progress  have  frequently 
arisen  out  of  totally  unexpected  developments; 
the  events  of  yesterday  were  in  the  main  totally 
unexpected  to  every  one  but  yourself,  — you  admit 
—  do  you  not?  —  that  you  alone  are  responsible 
for  the  last  and  most  paralyzing  turn  in  the  affairs 
of  our  nation?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Nathalie,  "I  admit  it." 

"Do  you  think  that  you  fully  realize  the  gravity 
of  what  you  have  done?  " 

"I  think  so." 

"You  deliberately  planned  it  all?" 

She  considered  for  a  second. 

"  It  grew  upon  me  little  by  little  how  it  might  be 
possible,"  she  said.  "I  did  n't  want  the  mail-trains 
to  run  and  I  did  want  the  army-bill  to  pass.  It 


. 
i  \ 


\f 


[135] 

seemed  to  all  fit  in  together  almost  of  itself.  Mr. 
Lefevre  said  that,  —  did  n't  you?"  she  asked  him. 

He  bowed  his  head  without  speaking. 

"Success  appears  so  far  to  have  attended  your 
effort,"  said  the  Executive,  "but  so  far  they  have 
been  backed  by  two  great  forces,  intelligence  and 
the  people.  The  next  step  depends  upon  very  dif- 
ferent factors  —  upon  the  governmental  body." 

He  paused,  Nathalie  did  not  move  her  eyes  from 
his  face, 

"A  very  grave  responsibility  attaches  itself  to 
you  in  this  hour,"  his  voice  was  exceedingly  earnest. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  the  color  fading  a  little  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  You  have  laid  a  whole  country  open  to  an  enemy 
and  rendered  it  totally  defenceless  in  case  of.  attack." 

"Oh,  pardon  me,"  said  Lefevre,  "but  I  must 
protest  against  a  representation  of  the  force  opposing 
the  army  —  if  you  choose  to  consider  it  opposing  — 
as  in  any  sense  an  enemy.  That  force  is  no  enemy 
and  contemplates  no  attack.  The  only  danger  in 
the  existing  circumstances  is  the  danger  incurred 
by  the  recognition  that  if  there  were  danger  there 
is  no  one  to  oppose  it." 


. 

?\ 

V 


a  Woman  roposes 


[136] 

"Granted,"  said  the  Executive,  "but  however  the 
facts  of  the  case  are  presented  the  main  point  is  that 
we  approach  the  hour  in  which  their  riddle  must  be 
satisfactorily  solved,  and  unless  it  is  so  solved  no 
one  can  say  what  will  occur  to-morrow.  The  Special 
Session  is  called  for  ten  o'clock;  the  whole  country 
depends  in  the  widest  and  broadest  sense  of  the  word 
upon  the  results.  You  and  I"  —  he  looked  at 
Lefevre  as  he  spoke  —  "  have  measured  ourselves 
against  the  law-makers  before;  the  army  was  also 
represented  in  a  struggle  with  them  once  this  winter. 
We  all  know  the  results.  At  the  present  moment  no 
man  can  measure  what  their  action  will  be  —  no 
man  can  measure  what  effect  even  the  gigantic  dead- 
lock about  us  may  have  upon  them.  The  fact  that 
the  country  lies  helpless,  paralyzed,  stricken,  may 
very  likely  not  weigh  for  a  moment  against  some 
personal  spite  —  some  petty  business  animosity. 
Appeals  to  the  public  good,  to  popular  rights,  to 
national  demands,  have  been  tried  and  have  failed 
again  and  again.  To  deal  with  them  is  altogether  a 
lottery  of  chance.  I  propose  then  to  throw  for  the 
highest  stakes;  we  men  know  that  our  strength 
avails  us  not;  let  us  call  upon  the  woman  who  has 


oman  Proposes 


[137] 

had  the  brain  to  conceive  and  the  courage  to  dare, 
to  take  upon  herself  the  burden  of  the  great  cause, 
to  go  before  the  Session,  tell  her  story,  and  try  to 
force  the  issue  through  to  success  as  she  has  forced 
its  inception  through  to  accomplishment." 

Nathalie  was  deathly  white,  but  quite  composed. 

"I  don't  mind  in  the  least,"  she  said,  "I  never 
spoke  in  public  but  I  know  that  I  shall  be  able  to  tell 
the  Government  —  to  tell  you  —  to  tell  anybody  — 
just  why  I  did  what  I  did.  God  does  n't  do  things 
by  accident.  He  made  me  just  as  I  am  and  made  me 
determine  to  have  my  own  way  always  just  so  that 
He  could  use  me  to-day.  He  sent  some  one  into  my 
life  to  teach  me  everything  about  my  country  and 
He  sent  me  so  much  interest  in  that  some  one,  that 
in  wanting  to  do  for  him  it  came  to  me  how  I  could 
do  for  my  country.  Mr.  Lefevre  called  out  the 
working-men  because  he  and  they  knew  that  they 
had  right  behind  them;  I  called  out  the  army  be- 
cause I  knew  that  they  had  right  behind  them  too. 
When  force  is  so  overwhelming  that  there  is  no  one 
to  oppose  it,  it  shows  that  no  one  should  oppose  it, 
for  it  shows  that  every  one's  reason  is  with  it.  That 
is  how  things  are  with  us.  We've  come  to  the  time 


\i 


A 

•    : 


w 

A 


0 

0 

v 

C*7) 

\X/i 


to  alter  standards.  We've  come  to  the  parting  of 
the  ways.  One  way  leads  to  ruin  and  we  won't 
take  it;  the  action  of  the  whole  people  shows  that 
they  refuse  to  take  it.  You  cannot  call  out  a  whole 
nation  unless  the  whole  body  of  popular  sentiment 
is  ready  to  back  up  every  man  who  walks  out.  Every 
one  in  this  country  is  tired  of  the  way  billions  are 
being  paid  out  for  wicked  private  purposes  while 
the  bills  to  benefit  the  people  at  large  are  not  even 
given  a  hearing.  No  one  will  stand  for  it  any  more. 
—  I  'm  quite  willing  to  go  before  the  Special  Session 
and  tell  them  so." 

The  Executive  kept  on  looking  at  her. 

"Go  on,"  he  said. 

She  went  on  readily  enough, 

"It  isn't  right  to  expect  men  to  give  their  lives 
to  work  which  is  n't  properly  paid  for.  I  don't 
know  as  much  about  the  working-man  as  I  do  about 
the  army  but  I  know  that  neither  are  fairly  treated. 
The  head  of  a  big  business  ought  to  give  a  certain 
per  cent  of  his  profits  to  the  men  who  have  worked 
all  the  year  through  as  earnestly  in  their  way  as  he 
has  in  his.  It 's  right  that  brains  and  capital  should 
draw  bigger  pay  than  mere  manual  efforts,  but 


i.  *•••*•» 
.<r^'<""       ••.*'•» ' 

-•'-.. ?s>! 


CI>*§&CP 


o 


[139] 

work  is  work  and  every  man  who  works  has  a  right 
to  a  comfortable  daily  life,  to  food  and  warmth,  to 
an  untroubled  old  age.  If  private  enterprise  owes 
that  to  its  servants,  what  does  the  government,  who 
should  be  the  first  in  every  reform,  owe  to  its  em- 
ployees?—  a  good  deal  more  than  it  gives  them, 
surely.  There  are  some  men  that  are  paid  for 
routine  and  some  that  are  called  on  for  possibilities, 
—  firemen  sit  around  and  do  nothing  a  good  deal  of 
the  time,  but  any  hour  they  may  be  called  out  to 
danger  and  death  and  they  never  fail  to  go  straight 
to  either.  It's  like  that  with  the  army,  only  a  hun- 
dred times  more  so.  The  very  best  and  bravest  men 
spend  then-  lives  keeping  ready  for  the  chance  to 
give  them  up  at  an  hour's  notice.  It's  a  burning 
disgrace  that  the  government  has  so  treated  them 
that  they  are  where  they  are  this  minute.  What  do 
you  suppose  it  has  meant  to  the  officers  of  the  army 
to  take  the  steps  that  they  have  taken?  We  can't 
measure  it  at  all.  Such  results  do  not  arise  out  of 
momentary  impulse  —  they  come  from  years  and 
years  of  slow-growing  conviction.  We  all  know 
more  or  less  of  the  methods  of  the  men  who  make 
the  laws  —  but  no  one  knows  just  how  the  govern- 


,.>—• ....  .* 

:$>•• 


n 


Woman  Imposes 


[140] 

ment's  own  employees  manage  to  get  along  on  what 
they  are  paid." 

The  Executive  smiled  a  little. 

"You  have  your  subject  well  in  hand,"  he  said, 
"but  when  you  go  before  the  Houses  you  must  re- 
member that  discretion  is  the  better  part  of  valor." 

"Oh,  I  sha'n't  be  impolite  to  them,"  said  Nathalie, 
"no  outsider  ever  is  to  their  faces.  And  I  know  ever 
so  many  of  them  very  well  too.  I  shall  be  careful. 
But  you  and  Mr.  Lefevre  know  all  this  —  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Chief,  "we  know  it  all." 

" — And  now  you  know  that  I  know  it  all  too. 
We  '11  come  out  all  right  in  the  end.  It 's  only  we '  ve 
got  to  begin  to  be  an  old  country  instead  of  not 
minding  any  of  our  faults  because  we're  so  young. 
There 's  such  lots  to  do  and  we '  ve  got  to  begin  right 
off  to  do  it." 

"This  sounds  very  practical  and  to  the  purpose," 
said  the  Executive,  " — are  you  equal  to  repeating 
it  to  the  assembled  bodies  of  law-givers,  do  you 
think?" 

"Certainly." 

He  smiled  at  her  readiness. 

"You  are  an  officer's  wife,  one  sees,"  he  said. 


n  Woman  Troposes 


[141] 

She  started.     "  Oh,  but  I  'm  not." 

"You  are  not?" 

"No,  sir." 

The  Executive  looked  at  Lefevre. 

"I  thought  that  Mrs.  Arundel  was  an  army 
woman,"  said  the  latter  in  response. 

Nathalie  opened  her  eyes  widely. 

"Does  it  matter?"  she  asked. 

The  Chief  looked  serious. 

"Your  speech  would  have  carried  more  weight  if 
you  had  had  a  personal  interest,  I  fear,"  he  said; 
"you  see  they  cannot  possibly  conceive  any  one's 
speaking  from  a  disinterested  standpoint.  As  an 
officer's  wife  your  action  would  have  borne  the 
impress  of  so  great  a  determination  that  it  could 
but  have  struck  very  deeply  into  their  mental 
capacity." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"I  might  have  married  an  officer  —  perhaps  —  if 
there  were  time,"  Nathalie  said,  rather  faintly. 

"There  is  no  officer  to  marry  you,"  said  the  Execu- 
tive, "  —  we  have  no  power  to  enforce  obedience 
from  any  officer  at  present.  They  decline  to  obey 
orders.  You  know  the  situation." 


A 
!    ! 

u 


A 

\/ 


There  was  another  pause  —  a  particularly  dismal 
one. 

"I  did  know  one,"  Nathalie  said  at  last;  "I  think 
perhaps  if  he  —  if  he  knew  —  he  wouldn't  mind 
my  saying  that  I  was  married  —  married  to  —  " 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  a  servant  entered; 
he  bore  a  card;  the  Chief  took  it  and  read  it  aloud. 

" 'Captain  Francis  Mowbray  of  the  X — th/  and  he 
has  written  upon  it  'Reporting  for  duty,'"  then  he 
looked  at  Nathalie;  "your  one  renegade,"  he  said. 

But  her  face  was  all  aglow  with  light  and  life. 

"Oh,  where  is  he?"  she  exclaimed,  springing  from 
her  seat.  "  It  is  the  one  I  spoke  of,  —  please  let  me 
go  to  him!  He  will  marry  me,  I  am  sure,  —  at  any 
rate  —  "  she  faltered,  —  "at  any  rate  I  can  try." 

The  Executive  looked  at  the  servant. 

"Where  is  Captain  Mowbray?" 

"In  the  Marine  Blue  Room,  Excellency." 

"Show  him  in  here." 

"Yes,  Excellency." 

The  Chief  looked  at  Lefevre.  "There  are  other 
places  where  we  can  talk,"  he  said,  "let  us  find  one." 

Nathalie  was  left  alone. 


Oh,  where  is  he  ? "  she 
exclaimed,  springing  from 
her  scat. 

Page  142. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    WOMAN    AND    THE  MAN 

MOWBRAY  was  startled  beyond  words  when, 
upon  being  ushered  into  the  room,  he  saw 
Nathalie,  herself  deeply  moved,  standing  there  to  re- 
ceive him.  He  was  splashed  with  mud  and  showed 
other  evidences  of  hard  riding,  while  the  scar  upon 
his  temple  throbbed  scarlet  against  the  pallor  of 
his  weariness. 

"Good  Heavens  —  you  here!"  he  exclaimed, 
"how  does  that  happen?" 

She  bit  her  lip  and  tried  to  smile.  "  Nothing  hap- 
pens," she  said,  "it  was  all  carefully  arranged.  I 
did  it  all." 

The  officer  took  two  steps  backward. 

"You  did  it  all!"  he  repeated.  "How  can  you 
joke  over  anything  so  deplorable  as  to-day?" 

"I  am  not  joking,"  she  said,  "I  really  did  it  all. 
Won't  you  believe  me?  " 

He  only  stared  at  her. 


6 


Vr~N--'' 


V. 


i  j 

!  i 


1  ! 


h 

1    : 


bman  "Proposes  > 


••..     <*$J3      ,s" 
— .";'C.J."-'-'*I.. 


[144] 

"I  took  my  whole  fortune,"  she  said,  "and  called 
out  the  army  and  navy  with  it.  That  is  why  I  say 
that  I  did  it  all." 

The  deep  scarlet  anger  flooded  his  face. 

"I  can't  believe -you,"  he  said,  hoarsely;  "no 
money  could  buy  them." 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  buy  them,"  she  said,  "I  only  tele- 
graphed them." 

He  looked  at  her  a  minute,  and  then  burst  into 
ironical  laughter. 

"If  you  were  a  man  or  any  other  woman  I  should 
be  angry,  I  think,"  he  said,  —  "as  it  is,  I  am  only 
amused.  Where  is  the  Chief  Executive,  —  it  is 
to  him  that  I  must  speak  at  once." 

She  choked,  and  clasped  her  hands  hard,  one  in 
the  other. 

"Listen  to  me  first,"  she  said,  "it  is  important  — 
I  am  important  to-day.  I  am  so  important  that  that 
is  why  you  find  me  here.  It  isn't  joking  —  it's 
true,  —  I  went  to  Mr.  Lefevre  the  day  that  you 
went  away.  It  had  come  to  me  that  it  was  a  grand 
chance  to  get  your  bill  through.  I  thought  that 
each  side  could  make  the  other's  victory  certain,  if 
both  joined  together  to  do  so.  I  had  thought  it  all 


[145] 

out  little  by  little  those  days  that  I  sat  by  you  and 
talked  with  you.  I  so  wanted  your  bill  to  pass,  — 
I  wanted  to  do  good  but  I  wanted  to  do  what  you 
wanted  even  more.  I  went  to  Mr.  Lefevre  and  told 
him  how  he  could  manage  it  all.  After  a  while  he 
saw.  He  figured  it  out  just  as  reasonably  as  he  could 
and  it  came  to  just  about  as  much  as  I  had.  So  I 
wrote  him  some  cheques  and  came  home  —  and  I  'm 
not  a  woman  with  a  fortune  any  more." 

She  turned  away  from  him  as  she  said  the  last 
words,  and  lifted  up  her  head  rather  proudly. 

"Are  you  really  in  earnest?"  he  queried, 
seriously. 

She  turned  her  head  and  gave  him  one  direct 
glance. 

"His  Excellency  has  called  both  Houses  in  special 
session  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning.  I  am  going 
before  them  and  make  a  speech  for  the  army,  then 
Mr.  Lefevre  will  make  one  for  the  working-man. 
After  that  the  two  bills  will  be  brought  up  and 
voted  on." 

He  stood  motionless,  his  arms  folded  across  his 
bosom  — his  head  dropped  forward,  watching  her 
face  and  listening  to  her  words. 


a 

R 


CwsJ 

GfO 

n 


i?T  ^hen^omati  Proposes  '(M 


V 


[146] 

"They'll  pass  both  bills,  you  know,  —  they'll 
have  to.  Nothing  has  ever  stood  against  me,  noth- 
ing ever  will.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  I  —  I 
mean,  that  you  —  should  have  what  you  wanted, 
and  now  you  see  that  I  —  I  mean  —  that  you  are 
going  to  get  it." 

She  stopped  there  and  began  to  bite  her  lips;  the 
officer  saw  that  her  eyes  were  filling  with  tears  in 
spite  of  her  efforts  to  control  herself.  He  passed 
quickly  to  Tier  side  and  took  her  hand. 

"Don't,  my  dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  hurriedly, 
almost  thickly,  —  "  don't,  please.  If  it  is  all  true  — 
and  I  do  believe  you  now  —  you  must  n't  break 
down,  too  much  depends  upon  you,  —  and  you 
can't  afford  to  fail,  you  know." 

The  tears  began  to  fall. 

"Oh,  but  I'm  going  to  fail  anyhow,"  she  cried, 
beginning  suddenly  to  sob,  —  "I  can't  help  failing, 
and  it  seems  so  much  too  bad  for  it  is  n't  a  bit  my 
fault." 

"Nonsense,  you  won't  fail.    You  can't  fail." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can." 

By  this  time  he  had  a  great  deal  more  than  the 
hand  in  his  possession. 


OC::X*^CP 


[147] 

"The  very  idea!  —  who  has  frightened  you  so?" 

"  His  Excellency.  He  says  I  won't  be  able  to  — 
to  make  an  impression  with  my  speech  because  —  " 

"Because  what?  —  because  what,  darling?" 

She  buried  her  face  in  his  bosom. 

"Because  I'm  not  an  officer's  wife." 

His  lips  drew  into  something  which  at  the  height 
of  its  conception  was  a  little  like  a  smile,  but  being 
lowered  to  her  level,  became  a  kiss. 

"  Permit  me  to  offer  myself  a  sacrifice  in  the  cause," 
he  murmured. 


0 


Woman  ?ropo5e5 


[148] 


/  \ 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    WOMAN    AND    THE    MEN 

IN  the  vast  Legislative  Hall  of  the  nation  the 
entire  executive  body  was  gathered.  The  two 
Houses  sat  in  their  double  quadra-circle  of  numbered 
seats,  the  Supreme  Court  surmounted  them  upon 
its  red  velvet  dais  and  the  High  Lord  Deputy 
surmounted  the  Supreme  Court.  To  right  and  left 
were  seated  the  Vice-Chancellors  with  their  vice- 
sceptres  lying  on  tables  before  them  and  their  Great 
Seals  couched  on  cushions  at  their  feet.  Behind  on 
a  seat  raised  four  inches  above  all  others  the  Head 
of  the  Whole  presided  over  every  one  else. 

All  visitors,  spectators,  sight-seers,  relatives,  and 
reporters  were  for  the  time  being  barred  admittance. 
Lefevre,  Captain  Mowbray,  and  Nathalie  were  the 
only  aliens  admitted. 

The  proceedings  began  with  the  usual  prayer  by 
the  chaplain;  following  that  the  Chief  Executive 


^-^CZH^S^^S:  ^ta 

n^omanTropojes 


[149] 

in  a  speech  from  the  chair,  very  clearly,  concisely, 
correctly,  and  connectedly  placed  the  whole  case 
before  those  present. 

When  he  was  through  Nathalie  was  called  upon 
as  the  first  witness;  she  rose  at  once,  proceeded  to 
the  place  indicated  for  her,  and  said: 

"Your  Excellency,  and  Gentlemen,  —  I  precede 
Mr.  Lefevre  in  the  pleading  of  our  individual  causes, 
not  because  mine  is  of  any  greater  importance  than 
his  but  because  he  being  a  gentleman  and  I  a  lady, 
his  constituents  as  well  as  yourselves  would  not 
desire  to  see  the  order  reversed. 

"I  am  desired  to  give  my  full  testimony  as  to 
some  of  the  events  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours 
because  I  am  regarded  as  being  responsible  for  them. 
I  am  responsible  for  them  for  one  reason  and  that 
reason  I  shall  detail  in  a  few  minutes;  but  there  was 
another  and  vastly  greater  reason  for  them  and  for 
that  second  reason  I  was  in  no  way  responsible,  for 
it  began  many  years  before  I  was  born. 

"I  am  very  much  interested  in  this  question.  I 
was  n't  interested  in  it  three  months  ago  because 
then  I  did  n't  know  anything  about  it,  and  very  few 
people  ever  take  much  interest  in  things  of  which 


[150] 

they  know  nothing.  But  a  little  over  three  months 
ago  an  accident  caused  an  officer  to  be  brought  to  my 
house  and  to  be  ill  there  for  weeks,  and  I  have 
been  taking  more  and  more  interest  in  the  army 
ever  since.  My  interest  increased  every  time  that 
I  talked  with  the  officer;  he  was  of  course  much  in- 
terested himself,  for  he  was  the  man  who  drafted  the 
bill  for  increasing  the  pay.  The  bill  came  up  while 
he  was  lying  at  death's  door  and  you  know  what 
happened  to  it.  It  is  coming  up  again  to-day,  but 
the  same  thing  will  not  happen  this  time.  There  is 
no  chance  of  that  because  all  the  circumstances  at- 
tending the  treatment  of  bills  are  very  considerably 
altered  just  at  present  by  the  recent  events. 

"  I  must  now  speak  of  those  events  and  the  reason 
why  I  am  responsible  for  them.  I  am  so  responsible 
for  them  that  I  am  particularly  qualified  to  recount 
just  how  they  happened.  This  is  the  story  beginning 
from  the  very  beginning: 

"The  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  my  husband 
(for  I  am  now  the  officer's  wife)  I  thought  that  he 
was  superior  to  any  other  man  that  I  had  ever 
seen.  It  was  on  that  account  that  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  marry  him.  You  cannot  imagine  what  a 


im^oman  Proposes  < 


[151] 

shock  it  was  to  me  when  I  found  out  that  he  con- 
sidered himself  too  poor  to  marry.  He  explained 
to  me  that  a  captain's  pay  is  wholly  inadequate  to 
the  needs  of  a  family  and  that  by  the  time  lieutenants 
get  to  be  captains  they  usually  have  quite  a  family. 
He  had  never  married  therefore  and  he  never  in- 
tended to  marry.  Of  course  I  was  very  rich  then 
myself,  but  that  did  not  appear  to  be  able  to  help 
matters  any  as  he  had  decided  to  never  marry  a 
fortune.  He  seemed  to  have  quite  made  up  his  mind, 
and  I  really  do  not  believe  that  he  ever  would  have 
altered  it  except  for  the  fact  that  I  had  quite  made 
up  mine  too. 

"  Of  course  if  you  never  have  seen  but  one  man  in 
the  world  whom  you  have  really  wanted,  you  have 
to  have  him  no  matter  what  feelings  he  has  about 
marriage.  Captain  Mowbray  talked  to  me  a  great 
deal  about  everything  while  he  was  convalescing, 
and  the  more  he  talked  the  more  plainly  I  saw  that 
I  would  have  to  go  to  work  and  do  a  great  deal. 
Little  by  little  it  came  to  me  what  I  could  do  and 
how  I  could  do  it,  and  yesterday  morning  when  the 
captain  left  me  to  return  to  his  post  we  parted  very 
happily  because  I  could  see  that  he  felt  that  he  was 


A 

v 

V 


•• 
i\ 


K  "When  Woman  ?roposes 


[152] 

being  exceptionably  good  not  to  marry  me,  and  7 
knew  that  he  was  going  to  surely  do  it  in  the  end. 

"He  left  in  the  morning  and  I  did  too.  He  went 
west  and  I  went  north.  I  went  straight  to  Mr. 
Lefevre.  Mr.  Lefevre  was  most  awfully  busy,  — 
he  was  just  getting  ready  to  begin  to  call  out  the 
railroads  —  and  he  could  n't  see  any  one  except  the 
people  he  was  seeing.  I  had  to  write  on  a  piece  of 
paper  that  I  knew  a  reason  why  the  Southern  Road 
could  not  be  called  out  until  afternoon  and  I  had 
them  take  that  in  to  him  and  then  he  had  to  see  me 
to  hear  the  reason.  I  was  shown  into  his  private 
office  and  then  I  told  him  that  the  reason  was  that 
I  must  go  home  on  that  road  at  one  o'clock.  He 
laughed  and  then  I  explained  to  him  as  quickly  as  I 
could  how  by  joining  forces  we  could  easily  render 
you  all  so  absolutely  helpless  that  both  bills  might 
be  put  through  without  the  slightest  chance  of 
failure.  Mr.  Lefevre  was  not  very  enthusiastic  at 
first,  he  said  that  he  thought  the  time  too  short  to 
organize  a  new  factor  in  so  big  a  fight.  I  asked  him 
if  money  would  do  it;  he  said  money  would  do  almost 
anything,  then  I  asked  him  how  much  money  it 
would  take  to  telegraph  the  whole  army  everywhere. 


^s....,~ £ros2 

n  r  reposes  >! 


[153] 

He  went  to  his  card-index  and  his  book-keeper  and 
after  a  while  he  said  that  every  man  upon  the  gov- 
ernment pay-roll  could  be  reached  within  four 
hours  for  a  little  over  four  million  dollars.  I  said 
that  that  was  all  right  and  I  wrote  the  cheque  at 
once.  Then  I  spoke  to  him  about  the  navy.  He 
was  getting  quite  interested  in  the  army  by  that 
time,  but  he  said  that  he  did  not  believe  that  the 
navy  was  necessary  to  consider  because  it  was  very 
scattered,  and  could  not  really  be  considered  as  in 
the  country.  I  said  that  I  wanted  to  see  justice 
done  equally  on  sea  and  shore,  and  that  as  long  as 
we  were  in  the  game  we  wanted  to  do  it  thoroughly, 
so  he  went  back  to  his  card-index  and  his  book- 
keeper and  figured  the  cablegrams  and  marconi- 
grams  at  two  million,  one  hundred  thousand,  —  and 
I  said  that  that  was  all  right  and  wrote  him  that 
cheque.  Then  he  began  to  see  how  much  I  was 
interested  and  how  deeply  I  desired  to  bring  the 
whole  through  successfully,  and  so  we  began  to  can- 
vass all  the  possibilities  in  good  earnest,  and  I  said 
that  my  great  dread  was  of  some  disorder  arising 
when  all  check  through  fear  of  the  troops  should 
have  been  removed.  He  said  that  that  contingency 


\  i 
\ 


j/1 


I  \ 


A 


6 


o<c:x*t§cp 

roposes  ( 


•**  •••.„ «• 

[154] 

might  be  handled  by  a  blanket  accident  policy  to 
cover  every  person  and  building  in  the  country, 
the  same  to  be  negotiated  through  five  insurance 
companies  for  a  premium  of  five  million  dollars,  — 
so  I  wrote  him  that  cheque.  Then  I  spoke  of  the 
added  wear  and  tear  on  his  office  force  and  himself 
and  we  settled  that.  Then  I  added  up  the  little 
spare  page  in  my  cheque-book  where  you  keep  sub- 
tracting, and  found  that  I  only  had  two  hundred 
and  fifty-eight  thousand  dollars  left,  but  I  knew 
that  that  was  more  than  my  husband  would  ever 
be  willing  to  many,  so  I  asked  Mr.  Lefevre  if  he 
would  n't  accept  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars  for  his  Relief  Fund  and  he  said  that  he  would, 
so  I  wrote  him  that  cheque.  Then  he  advised  me  to 
keep  the  eight  thousand  in  case  that  I  might  need 
some  money  and  I  saw  that  as  he  did,  so  I  kept 
the  eight  thousand. 

"I  came  home  on  the  one  o'clock  train,  and  just  as 
soon  as  my  train  was  in  Mr.  Lefevre  began  calling 
the  roads  out.  You  know  how  things  went  after 
that.  His  Excellency  sent  for  Mr.  Lefevre  in  the 
night  and  he  sent  for  me  early  this  morning.  They 
wanted  me  to  make  this  speech  that  I  am  making 


^hen^omari  Proposes 


[155] 

now,  and  I  said  that  I  would.  There  was  only  one 
hitch  in  the  whole,  and  that  was  that  they  both 
felt  that  you  would  n't  be  able  to  see  why  I  should 
have  bothered  so  much  when  I  was  n't  an  officer's 
wife.  They  said  that  you  were  not  used  to  anything 's 
being  presented  to  you  by  any  one  unless  that  one 
was  getting  something  out  of  it  for  himself.  We 
did  n't  know  what  to  do  for  a  little  for  there  was 
only  one  officer  that  I  wanted  to  marry,  and  no 
officer  at  all  to  marry  me.  But  while  we  were  talking 
one  did  arrive,  the  only  one  to  disobey  the  orders; 
he  had  ridden  post-haste  all  night  to  report  for 
duty  to  his  chief,  so  he  got  here  this  morning  just 
in  time  to  marry  me.  Of  course  it  was  the  right 
man,  the  man  I  loved;  the  right  man  is  always 
the  man  you  love  and  also  the  one  man  that  you 
never  can  make  mind,  —  that 's  why  you  love  him. 
I'm  ever  so  proud  of  his  disobeying  —  as  proud  as 
I  am  of  the  rest  for  standing  like  one  man  for  their 
own  rights  and  their  brothers'. 

"That 'sail!" 

She  looked  at  her  husband  and  smiled,  and  then 
looked  at  them  all  and  smiled.  The  smile  settled 
the  question  without  need  of  further  speeches. 


C/i\3 

efe 

Q 

8 

efe 
rv/r; 


:'    \ 


[156] 


A  perfect  roar  of  applause  arose  and  voices  here  and 
there  cried  out  — 

"The  bills!"    "The  bills!" 

As  Nathalie  crossed  to  where  her  chair  was  wait- 
ing, the  bills  were  brought  and  the  reading  begun  at 
once.  There  was  no  discussion  as  to  one  single 
clause.  Both  bills  were  passed  without  a  dissenting 
voice,  and  then  they  were  forthwith  carried  up  to 
the  Supreme  Bench  and  signed  from  one  end  of 
it  to  the  other;  after  that  the  Vice-Chancellors 
affixed  their  seals,  the  Chief  Executive  pronounced 
them  laws,  the  chaplain  said  "  Amen "  and  the 
Special  Session  was  declared  absolved  forthwith. 

Every  one  poured  out  of  the  hall  at  once.  With- 
out, a  perfect  delirium  of  acclamations  was  rending 
the  air,  the  street-cars  were  running,  the  news-boys 
were  yelling  extras,  —  the  very  skies  seemed  beam- 
ing with  joy. 

"Oh,  I  'm  so  happy,"  said  Nathalie  to  her  husband, 
"  and  did  n't  I  make  a  good  speech?  I  never  said 
a  word  about  lofty  motives  or  future  generations, 
I  just  kept  right  to  money  and  things  that  they 
could  understand." 

"It   was  admirable,"   said   Mowbray,    "why,   I 


/  \ 


[157 

could  even  understand  it  myself,  and  that  is  more 
than  some  men  can  do  with  sotne  women's  speeches." 

They  pressed  through  the  hurrahing  crowds  and 
called  a  cab. 

"I  want  to  get  back  home  as  quickly  as  I  can," 
Nathalie  said,  "I  want  to  set  poor  Kathryn's  mind 
at  rest.  Poor  thing,  she'll  still  be  shivering  in  the 
room  on  the  court,  I  suppose." 

Mowbray  put  her  into  the  hansom,  stepped  in 
himself  and  drew  the  doors  shut.  "  I  fear  that  I  am 
back  among  my  dreams  again,"  he  said,  turning  a 
little  towards  her,  "but  then  I  never  have  been  my 
real  self  with  you." 

"No,  I  felt  that,"  she  said,  "you  were  the  stiffest, 
school-teacherest  kind  of  a  man.  You  talked  as  if 
it  was  out  of  a  book,  and  no  matter  what  I  wore, 
you  never  said  that  it  was  pretty." 

"Didn't  you  pity  me?"  he  asked  gently,  —  "I 
was  n't  very  happily  situated  after  I  began  to  guess 
how  we  both  felt." 

"Guess!  —  Did  n't  you  know  how  I  felt  from  the 
very  beginning?" 

He  was  forced  to  laugh. 

But  she  did  not  laugh. 


**zfs 

A 

u 


A 


h 
l\ 

V 


o 

v 


•  \ 


n  Proposes  ] 


[158] 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  she  said,  gravely, 
'I've  married  you,  you  know  that.  I've  married 
you  to-day  because  it  was  forced  upon  us  both  by 
the  circumstances.  But  now  I've  married  you  I 
want  you  to  understand  something  and  it's  very 
important  and  I'm  in  earnest,  too.  I've  never 
had  any  love-making  in  all  my  life,  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  cheated  out  of  it.  I  have  n't  been  able  to  help 
doing  the  way  I  Ve  done.  I  had  to  do  as  I  did  because 
you  were  so  dead-set  in  your  ideas,  and  I  saw  in  the 
very  first  of  it  that  expecting  you  to  do  anything 
towards  getting  us  married  would  be  a  piece  of  folly 
that  never  would  come  out  anywhere." 

"I  would  have  died  before  I  would  have  come  to 
you  as  a  pretendant,"  said  the  officer. 

"I  know  it,"  she  said,  "and  so  I've  done  all 
the  work.  But  I  think  you  ought  to  make  it  up  to 
me  now  —  don't  you?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  —  but  hansom-interiors  are  such 
very  public  property. 

"Will  you  take  my  word  for  my  good  intentions," 
he  whispered,  "just  until  we  get  to  the  house?" 


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